Nobility
by ReferenceIt
Summary: In a society where women are expected to hold their tongue, pretty themselves up, and only speak when spoken to. She played their rules, smiled gently, and looked the most beautiful at every gala. She played their game and ended up a filthy rich widow, owner of her late husband's trading company, and lives a life of luxury. After all, what can a man do against her foreknowledge.
1. Chapter 1: The Lady of the house

It was 1800 England, Queen Victoria still reigns over this powerhouse of a country. The Americas on the west side of the continent hold struggles in their land with natives, production, and civil disputes. There was once conflict about the uprising of slaves over there, but the Queen will not bother with such trivial arguments; for she struggles to keep her people at ease for a war in her own homeland.

The war between the poverty and the nobility. The war between the world above and below in the underground. The war between trade within the European nation. No, she has no time to deal with the Americans, at least not now, not with what she must fix in her own home country, not when her husband died and she had to take throne.

The Queen may not have the time to discuss or even act with what goes on with the world as she primarily focuses on England. However, nobility of all kinds can. They have money, leisure, and time. Sometimes they have too much time. They dabble in activities well beyond their limit. Why? Because they are bored. They only do things out of their own self-interests, after all they don't need to look out for the masses, they don't have to worry about an entire country. After all, all they have to do is look out for themselves, look out for their own personal profit.

Then they dilly dally into whatever fits their fancy. Not all of them like going to operas, not all of them like going to balls or social events. Some don't even bother going outside their estate.

Well it doesn't matter.

"Mistress, there seems to be a letter for you from one of your late husband's partners."

Bright green eyes bore through her glasses and stared at the face of a random butler. She sat behind an impressive wooden desk covered in papers, fountain pens, and ink vials. She shooed the butler away, a universal sign of go away with an implied 'get back to work'. She still replied however,

"Just place it with the others."

The butler bowed in respect to the lady of the house before he neatly placed the envelope on an already growing stack of letters about partnerships and what not.

The lady was of pale skin and she wore a traditional noon dress of a cream-gold color. She was located in between shelves of books on her left and right side, behind her was made up of windows with a mural design engraved into the glass, beyond the glass wall is a terrace. Only a single table and a chair occupies the space outside with plants scaling up the wall.

She proceeded in filling out papers and overlooking contracts that her late husband was working on before the untimely arrival of his departure in this world.

She sighed heavily before organizing her desk and removing her glasses. She leaned into the comfort of the leather seat she currently occupied, closing her eyes and wishing that the headache she received would go away.

It was sunset so the mansion blocked the balcony of any light. Instead, the balcony was devoured in shade and the front of the mansion was covered in hues of red, orange, yellow, and brown. Her office was growing considerably dark, without the natural source of light. She opened her eyes and stood up from her chair. She glided her hand on the window wall as she traveled a short distance to the see-through door. She clapped her hands twice before the lights to her office gave way; it casted an artificial glow onto the balcony.

However, with the mural on the windows the balcony shined with hues of blue, purple, green, silver, red, and every color in between. It made the terrace floor look like marble. She went outside and took a huge breath of cool air before proceeding to head to the small table which occupied the rather barren terrace.

She sat down and took in the scenery around her, it wasn't much.

Not even before three minutes since she came out, one butler and two maids approached her with evening tea and snacks. Only the butler stayed as the maids bowed in respect to her before departing. Silence ensued, but it was very welcoming. She sipped silently and her posture was perfect; it always was. The butler that stood a fair distance away from her gave a slight nod before he assorted a very limited selection of pastries on his mistress's plate. He placed a hand fan of the same color of the mistress's dress before he stepped away.

The lady of the house barely paid heed to the server close to her. This became routine for them ever since she was brought into the household. Her left hand grabbed the fan and opened it up swiftly and silently. Her movements were always graceful, poised, and delicate; for those are the qualities a woman in this day and age must have to do to survive. She brought the fan up to her face only leaving the eyes visible. Her right hand stretched to the plate and grabbed one of the assorted pastries the butler had picked for her. She then munched on the random treat before setting it down as she took a sip of tea.

Eat, drink, repeat. This became a cycle long ago.

Nothing was exciting anymore.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Someone help, please!"

She closed her eyes, took another sip, and gave one breathy sigh again.

"How mundane this is."

* * *

In an estate, far from the city of London, a small young boy casually sat in his chair, going over paperwork for his family's powerhouse of a company. The Funtom company deals with toys and sweets; it's audience mainly consists of children who dream to own all their products. Of course, they're affordable to even the middle class and higher, those who couldn't afford them are too poor to purchase or believe such products as trash. However, the ever-loving company donated its toys or money to city orphanages to keep up a prestige reputation to the nobles. It has a 'nobler than thou' implication making the family of the Funtom company a favorite in the upper echelon and even has whispers of gratuity in the lower ring as well.

The Phantomhive family - a truly, fearful, noble family in the world of the seen.

But this family did not end its services in the world the average people grew accustomed to. No, it dabbles, or perhaps, also rules the underground scene. The Phantomhive family is the Queen's personal guard dog. They serve the Queen with impeccable accuracy and loyalty. They spill the blood of those who disrespect the idol of England, they stop those who try to overthrow her majesty, and hunt those who dare make a fool out of this country the Queen worked so hard to stabilized.

Yes, the Phantomhive family is one to be feared, respected, and weary of in all manners.

"You have a message from the Queen."

A single blue eye glanced at the demon based butler. Ah yes, the only remaining Phantomhive heir also extended the power of his family to the world far beyond the mortal plane; the world of the supernatural. If his parents bodies weren't burned to ashes in the fire two years ago he was sure they would be rolling in their graves. He rested the fountain pen on the ink cartridge before giving his full attention to the demon before him. He served the letter with the Queen's wax seal on a silver platter. The demon was as pale as a ghost and his hair was as black as a starless night. He gave off a fake smile to false pleasantries as he tried to look as non-threatening as he could.

However, underneath it all he was a powerful, hungry, and dangerous demon. He was the predator and the boy was his prey.

The boy grabbed the letter and broke the wax seal. The Queens message are usually to the point and direct, but this one was different.

"Apparently, the Queen wants to discuss the matters of this ordeal in person. Quite unusual if I may inquire."

The butler smirked as his prey overlooked the letter many times, seeming to be expecting the paper to change words and give him an objective of sort.

The child set the letter down before he looked back up at the demon. He stared him down with a single blue eye, commanding his attention and acting superior to him in a field he knew nothing of.

"Sebastian, go set up a carriage to the city. Make sure the town house is available for five days. We are leaving as soon as possible."

Sebastian gave a coy smile and bowed before leaving to execute his duties with absolute perfection. The young boy glanced down at the massage again expecting something to be different. Yes, the message was lacking its usual content and information. The real objective was missing and the style of the message was too general, nothing like the other messages the Queen usually bestowed before him.

* * *

A/N: Updated 5/31/17

On another note I have not read the full manga and only seen the anime so far (BB1, BB2, Circus arc). I will base this majority on the manga, but the when the character does hit plot, it will go like the first season of the anime. I am also trying to see if I can get historically accurate events into the story and historically accurate customs, so if something seems off please do tell me.

And do not hate when I mention gender roles. Remember 1800s Victorian era was still predominately male emphasized and woman were treated as property, trophy, or otherwise. Keep an open mind for this.


	2. Chapter 2: A Day with her Queen

A young woman exit through the double doors of a well fit mansion. Another butler she did not bother to know any personal details about bowed to her and smoothly opened the carriage door. Today she wore a light blue morning dress with an altered skirt silhouette. Unlike most traditional Victorian styled dresses, the skirt does not immediately flare out as dramatically as the current style dictates; more over the skirt fans out of the bodice of the dress than puffs out.

Her hair was up in a simple low bun with a hair ornament. She wore white gloves to match her dress complimented by equally white heels. She gripped a parasol to block any of the unwanted morning sun from reaching her skin.

Another day, another flawless looking woman graced this mansion. She handed her parasol to the butler holding the door. The same butler helped his mistress enter the carriage before closing the door and joining the coachman upfront. The lady sat in her seat with perfect posture the entire ride as she does every time. She knew the butler upfront carried her items.

They came to a brief stop so the gate keepers can open the gate to exit her property. At the same time a small opening to the coachman's seat to hers opened. There the butler wordlessly handed her a book with a pen attached to the side. She gave a nod even though he can't see her and retrieved the book.

The sounds of other vehicles and people slowly consumed the quiet morning air. The woman was carefully and neatly writing notes and commentary into the book that was given to her. It was more company related business and other transactions; even when not inside her study, she was working. Her penmanship was perfect calligraphy even in the somewhat bumpy paved streets of London.

There was always a shout, a scream, or a squeal, but she paid no mind to it. Slowly the noise decreased once more as she traveled farther into the noble courts, but there was always a distinct chatter after her carriage would pass.

The windows to her carriage were always closed and when the sun would shine through one side of the carriage the other would have the outline of her upper body, casting only a shadow.

Finally, she made it to her destination. The coachman warned her prior of the estimated time till she reached. She only gave a small feminine hum, to acknowledge the warning. The carriage stopped in a slow halt, being just as graceful as the person in it. The butler smoothly removed himself from the front and once again opened the carriage door. The woman stepped out and was quickly given her parasol back already set up for her. She grabbed it with ease and looked toward the huge building in front of her. It was mighty impressive, tall, decorated, and just as powerful as the people who reside in it. The guards looked toward her with steel eyes for that is their job. Whoever is the habitant of this denizen is the one who pulls too much power within her country. She glanced at her butler as he procured a small envelope to the guards. They take a look over it and the wax seal on it. They silently moved back into positions and stood straighter. The gates to the impressive building opened. She walked inside with smooth small steps that screamed the perfect model of femininity in the Victorian era.

She entered the mansion, was directed by another butler to some stairs, passed by dozens of different rooms, and then told to wait for her majesty in the waiting room. By then her parasol was taken down and was held by her butler. Yes, today she was visiting the Queen. It was not uncommon, ever since her husband died she was supposed to give the queen annual visit reports. It was strange, however, that it was not done by letter as per norm, but who was she to question the Queen. She would come twice a year to give a report to her majesty with monthly updates through letters. It was a thorough process and perhaps because she was dealing with most of the foreign trade outside of England she may be concerned about the stability of her economy.

She waited patiently, like the carriage ride here, her posture was perfect. Her head was tilted slightly up, not too much to be noticeable, but not to low showing obvious submission. However, her eyes were tilted downward to show that submissive Victorian woman. The only woman who could look up with confidence and look down on the nobility was the Queen herself and even when her husband was alive she was in power, less noticeable however, so she would not be look down upon.

Her breaths were even, deep, and quiet. She waited patiently until the Queen summoned her to the meeting room. Her butler stood dutifully to the side.

Like his mistress, everything he did was perfect and efficient. In fact, everyone in the Manor was prim, clean, and perfect. They all did their duties with efficiency, accuracy, and precision. It was only after the original owner of the household met and unfortunate end a few years back. It wasn't because the workers didn't like working for him, they were quite used to the habits of Mr. Laughleft. Honestly, it was a slow procession since the arrival of his mistress. She would occasionally mention a cleaning tip to one of the house maids or a routine to hasten their chores so they would have more free time; and when they don't take her advice, she would take upon herself to clean or manage other chores. Some of the staff were grateful, others were insulted, but all of them were baffled. She would purposefully make them do other chores so she can apply her own method. Within a short few days, results would begin to show and she would direct the staff to do this method in a set time interval. Slowly everyone conformed to her strange ways either by will or by title.

Suggestions became instructions in their ears.

Small talk became discussions, complaints were being fixed, and life for the workers were getting better. It all snowballed when mistress first came into the Laughleft manor. However, since the death of Lord Laughleft; everything became ... quiet. Movements became mechanic, the idea of a woman in charge of the company left behind was never mentioned. The life inside of the Manor was robotic and obsessed with perfection.

Mistress herself was shut inside of the late Lord's study doing who knows what to keep the company running smoothly. Even then when other nobles and partners tried to one up, take advantage of, or cut off ties to the trading company, she took it in stride. She found more stable relationships beyond what her husband tried to achieve. The company grew and expanded to places usually out of reach of the Queen herself. And she did this as a woman too. Slowly perfection was an art to be mastered; and mastered she did. She perfected her walk, her talk, her looks, her smile, and everything about her that can be used against her. There was never any miscalculation on her part, there were never any proof to the scandals that are whispered within the gossip circles at parties, and furthermore she always had an alibi.

Slowly the transformation of their mistress became infectious. Everyone in the Manor started to strive for perfection because that is the only quality their mistress deserves for her hard work. They never complained, and it didn't bother them that mistress herself didn't seem to create small talk with them anymore. It didn't matter, as all they had to do was wait on her. Soon their work will be recognized and they will truly feel achievement.

Soon the door opened with the personal assistant of the Queen coming through it.

"Her majesty will now see you."

She acknowledged him by standing up from her seat and following the strangely white hair colored young man. Ash was his name, he played the part of a butler well, but a hidden intent or recalcitrant side of him is apparent. They walked down a few halls to yet another room. He opened it up with ease and gestured her and her butler to head in first. She obliged.

The room was covered in shadows; the default colors seemed to be shades of grey and black, and the sun barely entered the room as thin curtains covered it. Her majesty was sitting behind sheer curtains so only a silhouette was available to her.

No problem, this was normal.

She glided to the love seat that was across the queen's silhouette. A cup of tea was set on the small table that sat in front of the seat, courtesy of the queen's white haired butler. Both the queen and Ms. Laughleft exchanged pleasantries and small talk, before the actual discussion began.

"Trade from England's allies are slowly making a name in the common market solely from the east, however there is a conniption from our neighbors in the west who are also trying to profit inside the trade already established here."

The black hair beauty was looking down into her notebook before allowing her head to rise. She placed the pen to the page she was referring to before giving it to her butler. The butler took the book, who gave it to Ash, who then gave it to her majesty. She saw the shadow open the book where the pen laid inside. There tend to be a few words actually discussed compared to actual economic meetings, but the implications of this scenario spread wide. She knows the Queen can sort through hundreds of different scenarios ranging from the worst possible outlook to the best.

"We have a few options for both sides."

She waited until her majesty nodded to her for approval of continued speech.

"We can allow both trading rights equally."

Which will, no doubt, double the number of requests for production. This will cause more jobs being available, and the gap between the middle and lower class will decrease. However, this will cause the country to spread thin. Implying that she or other international traders, _merchants_ (self-proclaimed entrepreneurs) to keep track of what goes in and out of England. Resulting in an economy dictated by foreign dependency of products, also increasing the probability of other foreign countries to raise prices of English goods making them undesirable outside of England thus creating a massive downfall in the British economy. This option will also have problems oversea as half the items produced within the territory usually can't last months in a ship for an indefinite amount of time.

The Queen analyzed her journal of all the shipments and cargo that went through England the past 6 months. There were side notes, hypotheses, and calculations neatly arranged within 7 pages with all the pros and cons another 2 pages after that.

"We can limit the trade on one side more so than the other."

Of course, the green-eyed woman is implying to limit what is given to the civilizations west of them. The Americas are developing nations and they don't quite have a stable economy. They also have some civil disputes and are dragging behind in industrial advancements compared to England now. Trading with them has quite a few benefits, but the costs are great enough to consider a second thought.

On the other side, increasing trade to the east is not that difficult compared to increasing in the west. All parties within the eastern border can easily track the goods coming in and out of countries and can direct production flow. The economy for England already stands in a good place as there are more exports than imports on a normal basis. The only disadvantage of this plan would be the existing members typically in control of trade could and will grow more corrupt and the increase of work flow will increase on an already delicate system. Moreover, if new comers just getting into the art of this business start experimenting ways to reach the top, the balance will be overthrown as there is no available person to watch out for them or the repercussions they make.

The Queen took her time debating this option in her head. The most promising one so far. She was digesting the words written before her. That lasted another few pages in the same format as the previous.

She nodded before turning the next page and let her speak for the third option.

"Or your majesty can run the trading operation like normal."

No drastic measures, no convoluted schemes, and no heavy reliance on the trading district to stabilize the economy. This option will have England's international trade have a slow increase of goods and reliance on the market and increase its power in the economy overtime. It would be a slow process, but it will benefit this country in a long run.

The Queen took her time in deciding which option seemed best for her country. Of course, there was the unspeakable 4th option in which the queen herself decides on a plan completely of her own accord and tells her to follow it. This was always an option whenever they had their meetings, and sometimes she voices out a fourth option and the green-eyed woman would weigh the pros and cons of it and tell her what came up into her mind that moment.

Ms. Laughleft waited patiently for the Queen to decide while sipping her tea. Her eyes were closed while she sipped. Her legs were crossed and tucked at the ankle, even if the dress hid it. She never puckered, licked, or bit her lips at the wait. Her eyes slowly opened whenever she closed her eyes to drink.

She was never anxious, bored, or apathetic. She always smiled gently and welcoming. Her hands were folded whenever they were not in use and her eyes were still slightly down casted even if her head was held up high. Her entire being casted a glow of elegance and perfection. She was flawless in the eyes of nobility. Which is why they so badly want her to fall harshly into the bottom of the caste system. Perfection is impossible for any mortal being, much less for a woman. For her to escalate to the highest echelon is near impossible. There was no possible way a woman with her background to be granted with classes only dominated with men, there was no way she could've taught herself with how naturally intelligent men are in comparison, there is absolutely no possible way she reached to where she is now without any dirty secrets or skeletons in her cabinets. Society should ostracize her, be claimed as a witch, or be stripped of her nobility when her fiancé died.

Yet here she is.

Here she is with the title of the perfect Victorian woman.

The men would forget how intelligent she actually was, the men would forget that she was engaged prior to them, they would forget that she had a past not suitable for noble life.

They would remember that she had grace, they would remember that she is virgin, they would remember that she is of age where she can be once again wedded to a man.

Because in their eyes, she was perfection.

The Queen and Ms. Laughleft end their meeting with goodbyes and more small talk. They have not decided which option they will follow, but it will appear on one of the many monthly updates she will send to her and the Queen would randomly reply to one of them on an off day. Like every meeting they had. This was a pattern well established a fair while ago. Everything was going to be fine. Everything is back to normal.

And quite honestly, normal still seems a bit mundane.

* * *

After the woman in charge of a good portion of England's exports left, Victoria sighed. She gestured to Ash to let her other guests out of their hiding spots.

A young boy of 13 stepped out of the hidden room inside of her own with a butler of impeccable skills and abilities. The boy wore his usual blue regalia and eyepatch as the butler wore the standard uniform for all servants. Both have been listening into the conversation between her and Ms. Laughleft. She was still hidden behind layers of sheer cloth to the other noble in the room.

She called him in today to witness the woman himself. She had requested his assistance in an unusual manner this time around. Which was explained prior to the meeting with the other woman. Ever since Lady Laughleft was introduced into the world of Lords, Ladies, and Counts, there was something strange about her. She seemed, not perfect as many others tend to describe her, off. She was young, and mature. She was graceful and vindictive. She was talented in the arts of noble ladies and smart like the natural intellect of men.

Queen Victoria is not jealous of an 18 years' young woman. No, not at all. But after looking closely into her person, she was weary. The Queen will not lie when she played favorites within the noble courts, the young boy present in front of her is one of many. Yet, somehow, this woman also became a favorite without question, it just seemed proper to cast her as a favorite. Not natural, proper. She couldn't deny her with how she acted, how she stood, how she portrayed herself. Queen Victoria gave her access and special treatment without much thought. Which honestly now scares her.

She mingled and merged into the circle with ease, her adaptability is admiring and scary at the same time. The more she reflects on her actions regarding the Victorian beauty, the more she feels like she was forced to follow her lead instead of the other way around. The actions seem forced when it came to her, it was like she was playing a game where the odds were already stacked against her. And personally right now, the Queen never felt this defeated right now.

That's why she called her Guard dog. Ciel Phantomhive. All those rumors that have her in it needs to be traced. All those proclamations in which she is the ideal Victorian woman needs to be crushed. And most importantly all those scandals that were written off as not important needs to be brought up once more.

Because the Queen knows when she has been played, and she doesn't like the feeling at all.

She debriefed the details of what she wants the sole heir to the Phantomhive name to do; regurgitating the same information that was said before the woman of subject came in. They exchanged a bit of commentary and first impressions before the young boy went off to fulfill his duty to her.

Because let's face it, that woman has something hiding within the perfect facade that is so easily placed.

Ash watched the Queen of England gaze at the exit of the blue nobleman and his servant. Humans are pitiful. They seek to crush others that threaten their hold of power even if they're docile or passive. He saw no need to watch the other woman, not because he thought she was as harmless as she appears. No, somewhat the opposite. The woman noble had a plan far into the making, actions were already planned, people were already picked, countermeasures were established, and every action has several back up plans in case calculations were off. The noble woman was deceitful, manipulative, and cunning. Oh how he wished to purify her sinful heart. There was no possible way to avoid her now. Queen Victoria and himself are mere pieces in her grand master plan, there is nothing Queen Victoria can do to stop it now. He may not know what that woman is planning, but the moves she made with the Queen herself over the years was enough for him to be curious. The Queen is right to be weary of her, but it is already too late. All they can do is watch and see how she plays them all.

Ash poured more hot tea into her majesty's cup, she waved him off dismissing him of his duty to be right beside her. He bowed in the way sinful humans do to show submissiveness to even more sinful humans. He sashayed to the door and vacated the room.

Yes, they will all have to wait and see how she will play them.

* * *

AN: So this chapter is heavily economic based, don't worry if you don't understand it now. Still looking and I had an impulse of writing this weekend so this came out quicker than I anticipated. Again I warn you of irregular updates, incorrect grammar, spellings, or the likes.

If you haven't picked up already I like writing in third person, but in the perspective of first person, if you know what I mean. And as part of my writing style I like to set a general tone outside of big events. The tone for this is upper-class vocabulary, weird idioms, and generally beat around the bush, sweet coating conversations.


	3. Chapter 3: An amusing evening

"There are a variety of entertainers wish to enter into England and perform their show coming from the-"

"Hold them off, we don't have time for them to be dilly dallying through the streets."

The noble woman was once again back inside her office in the Laughleft Manor. She changed into an afternoon dress as soon she arrived. The colors she adorned reflected the fall season in the Americas; they vary from browns, reds, and oranges. None the less, the colors complimented each other and her skin. She adorned her glasses once more and the ink cartridges were full for the use of her writing.

Currently she handling what or who comes into the country. There has been a strife between England and India and since most of the lower class consists of these immigrants from that area. She does not have any direct power to stop them from flooding London, but she can easily stall them with their exports. It was an unofficial order from the queen when she commented about certain products in the east in their small talk after the main discussion.

She scribbled on the paper in front of her ruining the neat writing already fitted on there.

She continued to make revisions and side notes on documents, trashing or keeping papers, and accepting or denying invitations to balls, galas, or other special events. This was a typical day for her; it is mundane, boring and repetitive. She continued the pattern for several hours until it was near evening where she will once more change into another dress for a few hours then change for the final time today into a night gown. Then tomorrow the same routine will happen minus the trip to the Queen's palace and cycle will happen without fail.

She stopped writing, set down the pen, and roll her wrist and waited for a pop to happen. Quite honestly this was very un-lady like, but she did it with as much grace as humanly possible. Her strained hand reach for the fan on her desk and used it to cover a yawn. She then used it as its intended purpose while mindlessly staring at the paper before her.

She raised her head as the door to her study was knocked upon. A single maid entered with her head initially down as a sign of lower status and submissiveness. She only glanced up for a moment to see if she caught her attention before lowering her gaze again.

"Milady, you have an unsuspected visitor this evening."

Hmmmmm. How peculiar. She glanced at the clock to the left of her. 5 o'clock in the evening, it was late even for a noble to be visiting, at least, with an unannounced visit. She pardoned the maid who left with a low bow and proceeded to do whatever her pervious tasks were. She took off her glasses and placed them in her drawer in the desk. She arranged the papers by importance in neat little stacks before leaving her office.

One butler stood dutifully by the door that leads to her office. He followed a respectable 3 feet behind his mistress. There was no conversation between them, only the sounds of low clacking of their shoes against marble. Soon the marble transitioned into soft carpet as they reached the bed chambers. Her Manor had a surplus of bedrooms, more than what is required. All of them were clean daily as if some did reside in the empty rooms. They were all prepared and ready like someone had planned to stay the night. As soon as she reached her own personal chamber she waited for a few seconds before the butler who followed her, opened the door. She stepped inside an elaborately decorated chamber with a single maid already inside. The door behind her closed by the signal of a lock mechanism and the maid already in the room began aiding the noble woman into her evening attire.

Her evening wear was similar to both dresses she worn today. It's design was identical to her afternoon dress in sophistication and material, but the color scheme was basic in terms of the morning dress. She adorned a deep red and white dress. The neckline was boxed, the sleeves reached her wrist, and the dress puffed out at her hips due to the number of petticoats underneath it. The front of her dress had a corset look and behind was a frigid bow followed by a train of cloth. The cuff of her wrist had lace which similarly flared out a few inches from her hand.

Her maids were dismissed and the lady of the Manor scanned herself in the vanity mirror. Once she deemed herself presentable she exited out her room and made her way to the parlor. One butler followed her as the other servants milled around the Manor cleaning this, cooking that, etc. Everyone she passed made a silent gesture of acknowledgement. Her heels start clacking against the floor once more, but now mixed in with the others around her. Soon the halls thinned out again as she approached the parlor. The butler that was following her sped up and passed her to open the door.

New. She thought. It didn't matter, someone will tell him how things were run around here. The door was wide open as she approached it. The timing was perfect, but she still doesn't like how he passed her to get the door. A smile was plastered on her face as she entered.

"Fine evening your nobleman. Who may I address to know of your visit."

A boy dressed in shades of blue and black was calmly sipping a cup of tea that was provided to him. Sweets and snacks were laid out before him, but only a simple chocolate cake filled his plate. None of which was hers as a chocolate cake wasn't in the midst of the assorted pastries and goods. No matter, if the young Earl does not like the assortment set out for him, he may get whatever he pleases in anyway he is most comfortable with.

She placed herself on the opposite couch from the other noble. They sat facing each other as Ciel was sipping tea and Lady Laughleft was setting a few assorted patties from the table in front of them. They switched roles soon after basking in the silence of each other. Not even the sound of a grandfather clock fazed them.

"The Queen, if you so direly need to know."

The lady of the Manor bowed her head as a sign of acknowledgement and took another sip of her tea. She placed it down then looked at the very young noble's eye.

"May I know who grace my household without the need of a self-introduction."

There were always assumptions tossed around, no matter how dangerous they are, and if one noble visits another's denizen, it is logical that they know who they are visiting. But it is quite impossible for the host to know who everyone is that enters their manor.

"I believe the proper etiquette in this situation requires an introduction from the hostess."

The child responded with ease and grace like she. He doesn't merely believe it, but he knows the proper etiquette like the back of his hand. Every noble's second nature is proper language, etiquette, flattery, and subliminal messaging. Whether to learn the difference between discussion and deception is an art in the noble courts.

"You are not wrong, dear noble, however the queen most likely given thyself a copy of the most up to date information."

She had a guess of who sat before her, the eye, the hair, the crest, but making assumptions is risky when identifying nobles. The wrong title, profession, and even the last name has a tone that leads how to engage them. If one comes off too serious it is grave, if one comes off too promiscuous, you have faulted, or if one comes off to silly, it ruins a name. Yet she cannot out right display her intentions unless it gives her guest permission to take her hand to a chapel. Yes, for a woman to display her inner thought, a single woman no less, they have shown interest to the noble and they are encouraged to pursue an instinctual motive. The hostess of the Laughleft Manor must skirt around the subject no matter how ill effective and time consuming it may be.

"Whether that is true or otherwise, scribbled lines on a paper can never truly grasp a person, no matter how precise."

But then again, the boy in front of her clearly doesn't like to dilly dally.

"Then I shall go first; I am Lilith Laughleft, Lady of the Left hand trading corporation. My company deals with England's imports and exports, and trading routes. Sixty-six percent of the money goes to the Queen, the remaining is at my discretion. My rank is marchioness."

"I am Ciel Phantomhive, Lord of the Funtom Corporation. My company specializes in toy making and the production of sweets, primarily candy. The Queen is my highest priority and I am loyal to her. My rank is of an Earl.

Smiles were exchanged, loyalties were established, and ranks are used for threats. A typical noble introduction according to both of them.

Lilith took a sip and the Earl laid back on the couch with his legs crossed.

"Funtom was it? You know you're having a fun time if it's Funtom. That was your motto for advertisements isn't it?"

"And if I'm not mistaken yours goes along the lines of: The left hand trading corporation, the hand closest to your heart."

Originally, if she recalled, there were no such thing as mottos and if there was it was a trivial matter, but since her debut into the noble courts, she already has spread ideas which now seem crucial. Another aspect associated to her power play which effects both her rivals and her consumers. Another aspect which makes people hard to ignore her. She took another sip of her tea before speaking.

"You are not. The motto is spread far and wide to our partners."

"Associates."

"Pardon Earl?"

"The Queen has no partners, as there is no one equal to her outside the borders of England."

"Of course Earl. My mistake. I am human after all."

That comment seemed to strike a cord in the young noble and he didn't quite recover from his initial shock quick enough. The butler however seemed to smile at her with a more ominous message behind it. Did Ms. Laughleft see it? Of course. Is she going to acknowledge it? No, she won't. Primarily because the timing is too early. She still has things to do. She sipped her tea; it has gotten cold now.

"Well it seems we have intruded enough in your Manor. I will be taking my leave now Marchioness Laughleft."

Both parties stood up from their respective seats. One was leaving and the other one was seeing her guest out. They exchanged another set of goodbyes as the Earl got into the horse drawn carriage. She watched as the carriage passed through the Iron gate before making her way inside.

That was enough entertainment for the day.

* * *

The carriage ride home was uneventful in a paradigm of a casual mortal. Fortunately for a certain butler, he is not mortal. Let the heavens curse him for his immortality he doesn't mind the ability for now. He is heavily entertained ever since a tainted moral child was slain on an unforgiving stone table. If anything it was annoying and demeaning. However, it is still entertaining. His /master/ is running circles in his head after meeting Marchioness Laughleft. Oh how entertaining she definitely is. Especially after dropping that one comment. There was many implications to that lone statement, but the entire conversation between his master and the marchioness was nothing but blurry lines and subtext within every single one of those blurry lines. They were practically dogs biting on the same bone and both refusing to give in to the other.

A chuckle couldn't help but leak though his pale lips. But no matter how entertaining she may be, that doesn't mean he isn't keeping an eye on her. Since the first mention of Lady Laughleft from the queen, the lord sent him on a preliminary examination. Quite honestly she was the average noble woman, if one does not count her natural masculine intellect. She practiced the art of dance, persuasion, elegance, and other feminine noble activities. She does not do anything abnormal like the Midford household whose women practice the sword, Ms. Meyrin with her talent for guns, or even the nuns at the church who regularly please themselves in one of the bedrooms in the church. Truly sinful those nuns.

Which is why he overlooked such details. There is only so much information one can receive when all the woman does is sit behind a desk and organize papers. If not for her gender this would go under the radar and wouldn't need to be watched at all. He has been on this accursed world for far too long that it dulled his sense of normalcy.

She doesn't know it, but she had unknowingly deceived him, even on an insignificant scale. He isn't mad per say, but he made the same mistake as the mortal dictator queen. She forced his eyes to be fooled and deceived; he was forced to think that what she did, what she does, is normal. Normal to the point where there is no man who would reject her even with her masculine traits, where woman regard her with as much respect and discipline to seize having her as a topic of gossip circles. In this mortal plane, she stands on a pedestal higher than anyone else, yet she is the lowest of the low when underground; where not even her activities off record is there a hush or a mum.

She is the perfect mortal.

And that is what set him off. A human who is perfect even in her mistakes and faults to only gain more power through it.

"Sebastian."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Is she human?"

Ah, the question that baffles them both.

"She is human, my lord."

Because even though the timing is uncanny, the person herself is perfect in this time era, and she could get away with anything due to her connections, she does not exhibit any supernatural qualities.

And the fact that she is human that can do inhuman things is truly entertaining to him.

* * *

A/N: So I introduced the Ciel earlier than I wanted to, but hey it was starting to seem dull to me if it focused on my character's daily life. And when I was researching, the daily life of an unassuming noble seemed dull so I thought of adding a few characters that she won't have much "screen time" in this story for a while.


	4. Chapter 4: A Comrade to gain

"Get a dress ready soon, I'm heading to a ball."

She spoke to air, but she knew someone overheard her; they wouldn't be working here if they couldn't. Lady Laughleft was gliding her hand in an impeccable speed with the fountain pen and in cursive. She had just finished ahead of schedule when dealing with their Indian counterpart, but one of her supply ships suddenly went missing so her current revenues and expenditures hit a wall. It wouldn't damage the corporation severely, but it would create a nasty dent. She finished one document filled with mathematical equations and algorithms to visually see how much profit she lost.

She did not like those numbers.

She set it aside, grabbed another sheet that was filled with her current supplies at hand. To stabilize this mishap, she would have to inflate some of the products to keep up with initial profit. Perfect equilibrium is key to an economy and she is willing to give up her time and money to get it as close as possible in a macroeconomic sense. She started to play with numbers once again until a servant entered her sanctuary. She paused and looked through metal frames. She placidly placed the pen down before routinely clean up after herself. When she placed her glasses in a drawer, she stood up an exited the room. Her study wasn't quite a way off from her bedroom, but still far enough to let an uncoordinated woman to have her breath taken away. She didn't slow her pace as she homed in on her room. A separate butler stood stationed beside her room and opened the door when she was within 5 feet of wood. In addition, several maids occupy her room ready to efficiently get their mistress ready for the ball. Three steps in the maids have closed the door, loosened her corset, released her hair from its previous style, and were equipped with wash cloths, soaps, and gloves.

It wasn't long till she stepped out of her room after a mere hour presented in an envious gown and on her way to the event. Sickly, pale white emphasized her skin and narrowed to her waist before fluffing out and descending down to the crimson flowers adorning it. The way it was designed was to have a gradual effect of the white succumbing to the red; the red itself doesn't stay its vibrant red but turns rusted due to the train it also had. The neckline was off shoulder exposing her collarbones; her arms were covered with gloves that possess the same ombre effect of her dress, and her shoes had the rusted red color. It wasn't long before she arrived at the ball. One of the many servants of the hosts stood attentively at the front entrance checking invites of the guests. Her own serviceman opened the door to her carriage and helped her down.

Some of the nobles stood still and gawked at her appearance. She paid no heed to those who openly, discreetly, or otherwise stared at her. It makes no difference if she acknowledges them or not, but she knew they would want her to. The same serviceman that came with her from her own household showed the man the invitation as she casually walked in the mansion as if it were her own. Soon she was flooded by people of the same circle as she was. She aimlessly walked to a vacant table as her servant traveled around the ball room fetching her delicacies. On her way to a vacant table, she was stopped several times by men and woman stalling her with idle talk. She, of course, replied with grace and charm of a natural socialite. Soon after, she directed their attention elsewhere as she sat down at a vacant table and food was placed in front her a beat later. She ate with the same style as she does with treats and snacks, her fan in hand and slow decisive chewing.

When she finished the host of grand ball appeared before her with the intent to entertain.

"Marchioness Laughleft, how wonderful today was to end it with a grand ball!"

"Good evening Viscount of Druitt."

"Call me Aleistor, marchioness."

"Then I must extend the invitation only to Laughleft."

The man was as exuberant and flamboyant as the other nobles described him as. This was far from the first meeting with him as they've exchanged letters before. However, this was the first time they were in a less than dire situation.

"Oh, beautiful mademoiselle of the Laughleft legacy, why such a cold name?"

"I am a hopeless romantic, and until I can once love again, no one other than my future spouse can call me by my given name."

"May I be given a chance to love you in thy place of your former relationship." It was no longer a question as it was a statement. He caressed her hand before lifting it up to his own mouth; skin came in contact with cloth before settling the hand back down to the table. The woman was still seated in this whole exchange with the viscount.

"I would be honored for your pursuit of my heart."

Social graces were such a fickle subject. One wrong move, one wrong word and she will suffer multiple backlashes. Going to galas, balls, and parties took a great amount of mental play and acting to keep it in a nobles' favor. Nobles of the higher echelon usually only host a few parties per year to perfect their standing and validating their intellect, but viscount host parties 4 to 5 times a year, each one grander than the last.

What people, and sometimes nobles, don't see with his idiot like façade is the prodigious mental capacity he has. He is not a lucky born noble as snooty nobles like to regard him as. With his parties he is able to support an underground organ market, supposedly kept away from the queen, host averagely 4+ parties per year, and put any noble's ranks in jeopardy by a mere sentence or two. He doesn't always talk, but listens, and he has an information network that rivals any foreign adversary.

One of them was sitting right in front of him. He once again grabbed her hand and she stood up.

"Please allow me to, for all the deeds you have done to England."

Soon an abrupt sound of clapping surrounded the two; they did not pay attention to it as they were staring at each other's eyes with similar fake smiles. Apparently, the people around them gave their entire attention to the pair during their brief discussion. Even though there were more than 100 pairs of eyes staring at them they did not see Lady Laughleft's hand squeeze the viscount's hands threateningly and her eyebrow raising slightly in true amusement. The couple walked to the center of the ballroom in which they danced the rest of the night away, center of attention, and no one dare disturb them for the rest of the night.

* * *

"What is the motive now Aleistor?"

Green eyes seemed to pierce through the fire as if trying to find a story within the flames. Unlike the other times, her body wasn't straight, lady-like, or even polite; instead it was slouched, demanding, and relaxed. The only source of light was from the fireplace and even then, it didn't light up the entire room. There was only a single chair and couch in the vast room with no other trinkets. No clocks, no pictures, no carpets, and no windows. Only a couch, a chair, and a door. The room was sound proof, and it was huge. Echoes of steps alerted her that someone was nearing, but she already knew who. Not even an ant can pass through without creating a cacophony of sounds. Silence can drive a person crazy, maybe that's why it was fun for schizophrenics to create their own source of noise so they won't go completely insane.

"Vert les yeux, I need a favor from you."

Yellow tinted hands start caressing her form; knees to her thighs, hands to arms, and the neck to her eyes. Her head turned toward him, only to see half of his face illuminated with orange and a lovely smile. A smile only she had seen from conniving, ruthless, men who seek entertainment. A smile she use to see on her late fiancé's face, before the accident. She straightened her posture as if a force of habit, and leaned herself closer to the Viscount of Druitt. She inhaled his scent, rose. Oh, how this brought back memories for the Victorian woman.

"… And that would be?"

His smile stretched even further across his face as he stared at the woman before him. He led her arms around his neck as he traveled to the front of the chair she was sitting on. The flames covered his back and she could no longer see his entire face. He leaned closer to her as she reciprocated.

* * *

"Where is the Marchioness?" One of the new trainees asked.

Their mistress had left for the ball hosted by the Viscount some time ago. She has not appeared and it was already breaking the curfew of 11 o'clock at night. One of the more experienced butler answered his question.

"She seems to be staying at the Viscount's house a while longer for personal reasons."

"Does that mean we have to reset some of her appointments tomorrow morning?"

"No. Our lady is capable. She wouldn't be our mistress if she wasn't."

Although, the butler was quite exasperated at their mistress's behavior regarding personal dilemmas. He did wish she would dilly dally with a noble more proper than the playboy noble. But then again, his mistress can be quite childish if she wants too.

"I heard that our mistress was courted by the viscount!"

"Do you think our houses will merge!"

"Oh, I hope she gets a happy ending this time around!"

The butler mentally sighed, he wished the maids wouldn't gossip so much. What would happen if words like that go around?

"Ladies, I must impose on this conversation you're having. Will you also accompany me to the Servant's Parlor?"

That night the Laughleft manor lost 3 maids.

* * *

Mistress Laughleft woke from her slumber as the drapes opened to the sun's joyous light. Her long-time butler did his duties around her room. She had gotten home way past the time a woman with her status should be out. Luckily no person saw her travel the dark cobblestoned streets. She sat up from her bed and proceeded to walk around her room to get some of her blood flowing. She missed her routinely stretches she does every morning before her butler comes and opens the drapes. So far he was the only one to notice that his mistress tends to be very physically active, something peculiar for a woman to do, but then again everything his mistress does is quite quaint. He stands by the door as he watched Mistress Laughleft walk aimlessly around her room, there certainly was room. The master bedroom can comfortably fit 8 people with generous amount of personal space. She finally stopped as she neared a window. Her view was the main entrance to the mansion. She can easily see who comes in and out of the property with that single window alone. His mistress turned her head toward him and nodded. He bowed and left the door open for 6 maids to enter her room to prepare her for the day.

He stopped an incoming servant and gestured to the door he just exited. The other servant merely nodded and stood stationed at the door. He vacated his mistress's personal territory and promptly left for the servant quarters. There was over 80 people employed and they all serve one noblewoman; there was chatter, noise and the like. He performed his usual duties and assigned people chores. He then made his way to the kitchen.

"Arnold, the mistress."

"French. Maid."

He nodded in approval to the chef before going to the dining room where he saw a woman younger than the mistress.

"Collette, the mistress."

"In service, gardener."

He did the same to the maid. He repeated this process to the gardener, the clothing designer, the musician, the innovator, and the coachman. He finally checked up at the new butler in training who was attempting to polish the banister in the main entrance. He snapped his fingers twice before passing him completely. The new butler looked up before gathering his supplies and following the veteran butler, quite messily as he glanced.

"Name."

"Don't have one sir."

He merely nodded before directing the man to the servant quarter. They walked into the sleeping rooms and he grabbed a small parchment of paper before leading them out. They walked in silence; conversation was not needed. They walked to the servants' parlor next; there they entered a hidden room covered by the dish shelf. They descended a long staircase, however the area they entered was not old, rundown, or small. It was spacious, clean, and new; it was taken care of, as if it was the main entrance in the mansion. They took precise and measured steps, and like the hallways their steps echoed. Finally, they reached a floor and it was even more spacious. The floor was marble, there was a glass chandelier, and about 7-10 doors.

"Today you will take one final test to see if you will serve the Laughleft manor."

The butler without a name nodded as he continues to follow the experienced one. He has been in the mansion for around 3 months. He was constantly tested on menial tasks, to mathematical equations, and some trivial courtesies from foreign countries. Most certainly he didn't know most of the information when it came to politics and noble life, but he excelled at science and math based tasks. He thought it was random and useless to know this type of information for a butler job, but within the short 3 months he spent here this entire manor was anything, but average. Subtle clues, body language and hidden connotation from anyone who does speak is key. If one cannot catch any, or worse all, of these clues, the staff would not perform as proficiently as it does.

Both butlers walked into one of the many rooms and were greeted with acids, glass vials, strange looking burners, and other equipment.

"This is mistress's personal lab; she rarely has time to use it so she has given us the key to this room in hopes that we will discover something new to expand our knowledge."

However, there was something off in this room. In the back of the room, where there was several tubs, shower heads, and curtains, laid 3 male bodies, all were breathing and conscious.

"Expand your knowledge."

After that, the butler in training circled the room, he saw labels of strange letters and numbers, but in parentheses were the name of the substance. He grabbed three different types of acids; sulfuric, hydrochloric and fluoroantimonic. He approached the male bodies raising an eyebrow as they tried to struggle only to realize their attempts were futile. Now they can only react to the torture that will no doubt befall. He poured each body a mix of all three acids. He watched the horrified expressions as they saw their skin react to the chemicals. Giving a small, yet refined smile he closed the curtains behind him; separating the three bodies and the nameless butler. The chemicals did their work on the cells of the human body, slowly melting through skin, bones and blood. The Trainee met up once more with the other butler. The only other man in the room stared straight ahead and into his eyes before speaking.

"Bartholomew."

He smiled, he has a name now. He bowed in respect to the other man and in respect for the Laughleft name. He accepts, he is officially part of the Laughleft mansion.

"Yes, Clyde sir."

Clyde left the room leaving him inside the pristine lab. Bartholomew took his time browsing the fine selection of chemicals in the room. There was liquids, powders, and gases. His smile never left his face, he was like a kid in a candy store, or better yet a baker in a bakery, because he will not be the one who will be subjected to his own confections. He opened an adjacent door inside the lab and was once again amazed by the sheer velocity of chemicals it withheld. Screams soon echoed through the lab. The chemicals seemed to have a positive reaction to cloths. Bartholomew grabbed a gas mask nearby and a gas tank.

For a woman, Mistress Laughleft is certainly a malicious marchioness.

* * *

The woman of the household was on her balcony once again with the lights in her office creating the same beautiful design. She was dressed in her evening apparel and sipping tea. Chamomile tea, it was quaint. The dessert before her was a mini molten lava cake. A butler was by her side, the most constant one as she noticed. She should've remembered his name, but names were now trivial to her, sooner or later they will die. She found it silly that only a name will satisfy a person's need to prove their existence. She rather remember a person based on their actions.

She took another sip of her tea.

"We are missing 3 maids."

"They are un-needed."

A challenging hum came from his mistress.

"We have a new butler."

"… And how is he?"

"Performing incessantly well. His knowledge in mathematics and science are prodigal."

Lilith Laughleft hummed in approval. At least that room won't rust away and cause a chemical fire, but she would love to see a show with such entertainment. Maybe she should see who this newbie is.

"Name."

"Bartholomew."

Oh, so he was a stray. His nickname shall be Bart. She sat, ate, and drink, before leaving her study and leaving for her bedroom. She had another day ahead of her, but this time she would have it with another noble.

* * *

A/N: So here is a little bit of information about the Lady of the house. Is the character Mary-sue? Kind of, yes, but I needed her to be a bit interesting and in a world where nobles decided to spend their free times dealing with demons, angels, and reapers, this is quite tame. At least that is how I like to think so. If you would kindly check out my bio that would be much appreciated. It has the general disclaimers, the comment, favorite, etc. jig on there. Basically anything I don't like explaining after every chapter.

If anything is unclear or not well explained please to tell, I like constructive criticism and considering I have no beta, you all will be my beta! Again if I have any wrong information, fictional or reality wise, please do tell. it would help out a lot. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5: The Mistress, quite stressed

"Oh, Sir Damien I'm enraptured by the vast intellect you possess."

The noble she was acquainting herself was no other than the supplier of a certain noble dog. Her posture was once again poised and practiced. She quietly sipped the tea in his presence, laughed at all the right moments, and lead the man before her in a false sense of security. Both nobles were outside in the courtyard, enjoying the morning sun, one of her butlers was over her shoulder holding the parasol that protected her from the sun's rays. In addition, she wouldn't let someone who's worth was equivalent to a certain countries future debt grace the inside of her house.

"I was always on the top 10% in my classes when I was a younger man."

"You are too modest; you are still very young."

"What can I say, even I lure in the snow white of England!"

She smiled with a tilt of her head, before giving out a startled gasp.

"Oh, my! We have been talking since 8. Pardon for taking up your time."

"No worries, Marchioness. I do hope that I have charmed you enough for my eligibility for your hand."

She followed the noble when he stood up. His carriage was most likely already set up for him to leave as soon as they reached the front entrance. She had been sweet talking the man for several months now who shown promise as he had gone up the food chain in a remarkably fast pace. Of course, only due to her sleight of hand in the entire process. Her subtle movements, suggestions, and delicate nature, she easily swayed him to her bidding.

"There is only one aspect that would make you a formidable suitor in comparison to everyone else. When you achieve it, there will be no doubt in my mind what my answer shall be."

"No worries, my sweet, soon I will have enough funds to supply you and I and more."

Yes, this was the poor fool who would attempt to swindle the Ciel Phantomhive. The Queen's guard dog. He was still relatively new, unknown, and stupendously naïve. That is why no one will batt an eyelash when he is used as a plot point in the story. He will only prove useful until that point. She had planted the seed of coercing the little dog out of his money a month back and now he was growing it splendidly. When she first encountered him, she could hastily plant the seed in such horrible soil; no she had to gain trust, swoon him, and stroke his pride as a man. Now it was growing into fruition. He informed her he will enact his plan in a few months when he settles some business with the factory. Currently he was looking for a seller to buy the factory off his hands, and he found a great proposition just short of last week.

She smiled and bid farewell to Damien as he got into the carriage and left. She gave him a petty excuse why he can't see her until he receives the money needed. Now, that was one side quest she can check off the plotline. This way the tracks will be muddled if someone got curious on why he decided to make such an ignorant move against the current queen's favorite. It wouldn't be suspicious on her part at all. She oversaw majority of imports and exports the country has, he happened to be one of them. She walked toward the doors of the mansion and strode to her personal office. Meanwhile, the servants began cleaning after the poor excuse of a noble, she would have pitied them, but had no desire to do so. It was their job after all, at least officially. She strolled past the servant quarters planning to resume her daily, menial tasks she did every day. That was until her main butler stopped in front of her.

They stood in silence for a while, before the butler bowed and several maids appeared behind her. She glanced around before switching her course from the study to her bedroom. Non-verbal communication was heavily emphasized in the manor as 95% of communication is body and 5% is actual talk. She completely agreed with that statement. She was once again prepped in a beautiful gown, her hair up, and she was mentally preparing herself with another battle of subtle manipulation and ordinance. When that butler stopped in front of her and did not move, she knew then that someone was coming to the manor unannounced. Someone with equal say, or someone who makes the servants question if they should interfere. She walked to the parlor in the main building, a few maids and butlers were already stationed, a variety of assorted treats were on display, and a tea cart nearby with also a variety.

She sat on a love seat couch. Two long couches were on either side of the loveseat and a small table was centered in between them all. She breathed in a deep sigh as the door opened.

"I see that you were waiting for us."

"I was, as last time I had the audacity to make you wait for me."

Her head only moved what was necessary to view the guests entering the parlor. Among the colorful group stood the small child in charge with the Phantomhive fortune. His un amused face, his relaxed body, and the accursed eyepatch. There was a saying that eyes were the windows to the soul. Oh, how she knew that so, and since it covers one fourth of his face, playing the noble game is thrice as hard. Never mind that he is a child, one does not gain the title of the queen's guard dog just by heritage. That would be an assumption that would get one killed.

"I came again un announced; this time with associates."

He did not lie as she saw loud, vivid red and deceptively calm blue. Madame Red and Nobleman Lau. Along with the group was their servants respectively. Some more dressed than others. Madame Red, she associated with her on occasions, them being close to friends in a noble standpoint. Both Lilith and Red have invited one another in a neutral and acceptable ground and gossip the evenings away. She had worked with this relationship for over 6 years now. Although still strangers, they are most comfortable with each other when invited to other nobles' party, often hanging around one another. However, nothing suspicious about their relationship would cause her nephew to be concerned about.

Nobleman Lau, evidently Chinese. She worked with some imports and exports with the foreign nation, but not as much as she would like. She has no personal experience with the man, haven't heard a single mutter in his original country or her owns, and relates to only the Phantomhive manor. So basically, off limits to her information network. As much as she controls trade routes and goods, she is completely blind to those strictly in the black market. If they had a cover business, which 66% of them do, she can get a rough estimate of what happens between the alleys and the stalls. Outside of that, she has no power, that is where the guard dog comes in, the necessary evil in the system. She only got a glimpse of it when the original Phantomhive manor went up in flames. She would've expanded to the black market, but the child came in restoring his name. And since she is a woman, she humbly declined and offered it back to the Phantomhive.

She smiled politely.

"And I extend my invitation to all, one of my servicemen saw you heading my way."

She gestured to her guests to take a seat. Madame red smiled and Nobleman Lau was already making himself at home. The Earl took his time heading to a seat, observing the room and looking at the trinkets and décor.

"What if I was merely passing by."

He challenged her statement. The game begins once again. She crossed one ankle over the other and the maids and butlers efficiently did their jobs. They prepped and served tea for the nobles, one earl grey for the child noble himself, rooibos tea for Madame red and classic Chinese flower tea for Lau. Her own personal butler brewed pomegranate tea herself. They assorted their plate with various sweets each having a palate of their own.

"Unfortunately, that is not possible as the noble courts in the city are closer to the palace, which is opposite of my manor."

And there would be no reason for him to head this way otherwise. She lived on a property that owns the surrounding town houses and shops around the manor, it wasn't on a main road, but inside a small sub street that has little to no advantage for her company for the need of England.

The property she owned belonged to either the families of her servants or hopelessly stuck middleclass men. She lived a small town within England territory near the capital; most of the set up was due to her late husband's insistence of having the manor livelier without hiring more servants. The motive behind this set up was so Mr. Laughleft can test out different economic startups, solutions, or fail safes without risking the entire country of England. Ingenious really, it served the current marchioness well.

The manor is not close to the harbor as it resides inland. Most rooms she occupies are primarily her bed chamber, the dining room, her study, and her guests' parlor. All of them strategically placed for her own personal benefit. The other rooms have the same sentiment, but not for her use. She took a sip of her tea.

By the time the Earl decided to sit down his tea was ready for him along with his plate of sweets.

"You have a beautiful view of the palace."

A perfect view of the Queen's residence if she could brag. Bragging in front of nobles such as them is improper and not wise. She did not dismiss the way he calmly accused her, but it never sounds like so. To anyone outside of their conversation sounds like an abrupt change of subject. However, in this period a man can casually switch topics and have no backlash as long as it wasn't in front of the queen. If a woman did such an action in front of a man she would be disciplined in front of the crowd or be seen as a tramp. The restrictions woman have is tiresome and plentiful, but that did not stop woman having power in some cases. For example, the queen herself, the red mistress in front of her, and herself if she wanted to. She picked up a blue macaroon. Blueberry, not terribly bad.

"A wonderful view, isn't it?"

* * *

"Ciel, this is a very abrupt visit."

Madame Red was concerned about her nephew. He has recently just showed up at the Phantomhive manor and took over the family business. The company and its secrets. She would not have minded visiting any other noble, but the noble they were visiting was Lilith Laughleft. Not only is she a rank higher than Ciel and her, but she oversees Great Britain's economy. The only times she conversed with the woman was during parties and on neutral grounds. Quite honestly, she trusts her more than other noblewomen because she does not just go for her information network within the upper echelon, but for normal conversation as well. Contradictory to her own words, she wouldn't let the woman come closer than a 10-foot yard stick. For years, she tried digging up dirt on the perfect Victorian woman even before her debut at age 13. A beauty she definitely was, and every noble woman tried stripping her title of being a noble woman from her like vultures. At that time Madame red did not care as she was once happily engaged and was planning to pro create with her husband, but when her fantasy died along with her husband she started to go back to her roots; finding the skeletons in the closets of other nobles. When the Laughleft name came up again she saw the child once more. It was at Count Druitt's manor and she aged 2 years. Her fiancé was mingling with other women, much older than the betrothed. Not an uncommon site, but still disgraceful in her paradigm. She glanced at the child once more, but like the man, she was surrounded by men. She would have easily classified her as a skimp, but she noticed the child Laughleft turning down dances, sliding hands off her, and rejecting all advances.

Pitying the girl, Madame red sauntered up to the cluster of testosterone and took the small child away. Ever since the party they began talking, then chatting, then conversing, and soon she would've called her a friend. Then she noticed something disturbing. They would exchange pleasantries, they would do small talk, have a little snack or drink in between them, she would talk about her troubles and they would part ways. Not once in their little get togethers that the child before her would talk about her trouble. Not even when the remaining Laughleft's fiancé died due to illness. It was the main scandal for 6 months before some other news hit the gossip circle. For an entire year, no one mentioned the wife of the deceased Laughleft. The business was failing, there was no parties from the manor, and the perfect Victorian woman was no more. The year passed with no significant changes, suddenly news flooded like the North Sea flood in the Netherlands. Her nephew appeared out of thin air, a confirmed rumor that Lady Laughleft is now in charge of most of the supplies that enters and exits Britain, and the queen had declared Ciel Phantomhive and Lilith Laughleft, indirectly, her favorites. The trend that she noticed was what she did to other noblewomen to gain information, to gain an edge, to set them up for failure, the child before her was doing the same.

It was a horrifying to be on the other side of the game. To be played by a female with similar aspects as herself.

"Do you know who we are visiting Madame Red?"

Lau was smiling with his eyes closed and hands inside his sleeves. He doesn't not know much about the woman they are visiting and she doesn't know anything him either. It was on whim that he joined the amusing Phantomhive family on their latest adventure. She decided to ignore him, it wasn't quaint of her so he dismissed her. He doesn't know what was going to happen as they pull up on the property of another noble. He had his gracious assistant Mao be his side. As soon as the pale butler of the Phantomhive open the carriage door, a butler not from their group was immediately by their side. He tilted his head toward the servant, who did not flinch or move. When everyone got out of the vehicle, the servant finally moved by bowing to the nobles.

"We welcome you to the Laughleft manor."

Laughleft? He never heard that name in his lifetime! But then again if he did remember the name, they would no longer be living. He followed the group who followed the butler who serves this manor. They were brought to a room with Lord Phantomhive leading. When they stepped in a traditional Victorian woman was sitting straight in her seat. She looks like she should relax, maybe he can gain a girl client to his den, but then again nobility in England can be ridiculously strict. He made his way to one of the couches sitting next to Madame Red. The boy nobleman walked around the room commenting on useless facts. He was then served by a maid of the manor and was given Chinese flower tea. He could tell by the scent it gave, so there was no need to open his eyes.

In addition, why hasn't she comment on him yet? She could question anything about him: his clothes, his eyes, his presence, Mao's presence. The deserts on his plate also differs from both Phantomhives. The flower tea was especially steeped. He sipped his tea, not quite delicious unlike if he got one from China, but better than any other tea he had since leaving his home country. He decided to snack as he peered into the conversation between the Earl and the woman.

* * *

"Absolutely stunning."

The 12-year-old boy took a sip of his earl grey. On his dessert plate was two small biscuits and a slice of chocolate cake. Sebastian was dutifully standing by his side observing his and the Marchioness's conversation, clearly amused. It has been 2 months since the Queen sent him on this side mission. He had other, more important duties that the Queen herself told him to look into and that he should temporarily ignore the noblewoman in question. It was not out of his repertoire of skills to do some simple information gathering, but it was strange that he was assigned such a task as even a buffoon could do. However, it was proven to be a challenge.

He eyed the Marchioness of Laughleft manor, he even eyed the help as they impeccably did their jobs well. Too well, possibly in human, but Sebastian did not react to them in distaste or mentioned about them. The servants also seem to be perfect, reflecting their image as the same of their mistress.

"When the sun was at its peak, the town lighted up with such vigor to work for the day ahead." She spoke to retaliate, this is where Ciel once again puts up a front to play the traditional nobleman's game.

"It seemed already so animated, even as the sun descends, the people of England seem to be brought more to life at night." As the night grows so do the shadows that the thieves hide in. Night is where the underworld strive.

"I, unfortunately, could not bring you around the town with such an unexpected visit."

"No fault on your part, I came here without your regard. I am glad to just survey your home."

"Please, look around as much as you need to satisfy your desires."

The Phantomhive and the Laughleft stared at each other with sickly sweet gazes that holds much more than an attempt of overpowering the other. This was when Madame Red and Nobleman Lau left their seats and adventured the parlor they were residing in. Even with such casual and harmless movements, they seemed to struggle to take steps as under the façade of nobles visiting each other, they were slowly drowning in the ocean of tension.

Water may look harmless as far as the eye can see, but there was still the unknown lurking beneath the surface.

Lilith Laughleft is being outplayed and acknowledged it as she drank her tea more rapidly. She needed to wake up, the noble that she toying with is different from the people before her. Switching her tactics to suit the need of someone with basic equal power as she, is necessary or she will lose before the official game exists. The plan for her was only to deal with one noble for today, now she had to deal with an additional three. Now she must play along to the boy's wishes to gain back minimum control.

Giving the noble before her a cordial smile she proposed to take them on a tour of the estate.

"Please, Marchioness Laughleft, we couldn't impose." But that was their main goal of their visit.

"I must insist."

"Do you not have any other plans for today." She does, but not while they're here.

"Only simple busy work, nothing that cannot wait for the following day."

"Then at your lead." Naturally.

Cognitive dissonance can be such a strife. A hand appeared by her shoulder offering her up. She looked up and saw it belonged to Nobleman Lau. How surprising. She would suspect that her Victorian charms wouldn't work on a foreigner with such different cultural beauty. But that may not be the main reason why he was offering his hand to her. It was a dangerous proposal to take the hand and a dangerous move to deny it. She barely placed her gloved hand on his and stood with his assistance. For a second she thought she saw him open his eyes, but when she double checked it was closed. She made haste to separate herself from the man. He was dangerous, whether it was because he was in the black market she couldn't access or because of the man himself.

She exit the parlor with the party following her, the door was already open thanks to one of the servants holding the door.

Now the tour begins.

* * *

A/N: So that little kind of time skip backward with Madame Red was meant to be confusing and conflicting. I was trying to grasp a tone that showed her confusion and befuddled thoughts, but I fear I just confused the Audience and possibly myself instead. Please comment on that if you will by giving suggestions and advice on how to improve it. This has a lot of jumping around and time skips in general because I can't do everyday life chapters. That's not my writing style or what I do like to write so yeah.


	6. Chapter 6: Repercussions be damned

"This is my study."

Ciel Phantomhive studied the room he just entered. Through the entire tour, she displayed all the proper rooms a noble would be interested, but as they were about to exit the mansion, Lau pointed out that they haven't seen the study. Naturally he was confused, and his aunt voiced out that they have seen the study. It was just as wide as Ciel's study, but stationed in the middle of the mansion on the second floor outlooking the rest of the mansion. It was furnished with adequate bookshelves lining one side of the wall to show knowledge, vivid green carpet flooring, an oak table accompanied with a lavish foreign chair, and a set of couches surrounding a small coffee table in case for noblemen meetings. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. He was content with the tour and was ready to leave with all the information he gathered.

... How mindless of him.

He wasn't cautious enough. The marchioness showed them her late husband's study. He couldn't even call her out on improper customs because of the fact she is a lady and nobles of all ranks dismiss anything a woman possessed. The tradition of giving a fellow noble a tour required places that the man of the mansion owned. Typically, women could only claim to possess the wardrobe room, their bedroom, and one parlor room if the nobleman provided one for her. The marchioness of the mansion is a different case. Now she possesses the company her spouse left behind and anything else her husband once owned. She marginally has more power than he does. She may be higher rank than he is, however, she is a woman, a widow, and a married-in noble. Those factors hinder the true powers of her rank. If anything, she is of same power as he or lower. But because she is also recognized as a queen favorite, she ranks higher than he, if only minimally so.

When Lau pointed out the study-flaw, she tried to digress that the room is none of importance. He foiled her attempt of a hasty dismissal when he requested to see the workplace of the new head of the Laughleft trading company. She smiled sweetly at him and with a quick reply of "Yes Earl" she led them to her study. The reply could be seen more as a snarl as she possibly recognized that he was fooled for a moment or to remind him of status difference, something he knew wouldn't backlash on him because of gender.

When he entered her study, he was greatly surprised on how different it was to her husband's. He was slightly impressed with the books which covered the walls on either side and the intricate glass wall behind the desk. The study lacked extra seats, he could surmise that the lady of the house saw no need to accommodate her guests in her study because she never had the intent to entertain them inside one of her private rooms. He started to file away little details of her study to further analyze at a later date.

The woman of the manor let her current guests snoop around her study. She was impeccably close to shutting the door to all three nobles when she finished the tour with the grand ball room. Nobleman Lau was very silent and quite pleasant during the tour, only asking a few questions to fill the silence when Earl Phantomhive was scrutinizing the manor or Madame Red attempting to find gossip with every word she spoke. She was fooled by the Chinese noble. She lowered her guard down even after she made a mental note to stray away from the foreigner. She hypothesized, subconsciously she would rather deal with an unknown person than the Phantomhive family. That was a mistake on her part. Now, she regrets not paying attention to the Nobleman Lau.

"Pardon Marchioness Laughleft, but may one of your servants guide my butler to the servant quarters, I humbly apologize for letting him roam without lifting a finger to serve either you or me."

The earl was still roaming her study looking at the various books she owned. Her eyes were transfixed with the pale skinned butler. His hair was unkempt and messily done, he seemed to have a permanent coy smirk etched to his face, and he seemed more trouble than he looks, at least rationally. For some reason, the longer she stared the more she found an undeniable charm that excused his unkempt and naturally informal personality she knew he possessed. She was about to approve of the Earl's request until a knock on her study door snapped her out of his bewitching trance.

She stared at the door as a young man opened and closed the door to her study. His eyes scanned the room dismissing the other nobles in the vicinity. He spotted his mistress and gathered to her side, promptly blocking her view of the Phantomhive butler. Good, very good. The young man bowed before offering a folder to her. She was aware that the nobles were trying to listen in or overview the folder her servant gave her. She merely took the folder and held it in her arms not taking a peak at the information inside.

"Dismiss."

She watched as he bowed once more and left without a word. He switched the light to her study so her guests and she can see without trouble. The day was slowly receding and her guests were overstaying their welcome. It was already evening and the sun's dim rays barely touched the Terrance outside her study, the weather changed from its sunny disposition to a misty and polluted fog.

"My oh my, look at the time. All of you must have some place to head right now, excuse me for taking up your day."

She did a slight bow, acceptable for an apology, and tried to usher them out of her study. The door to her study opened in time for the butler of nobleman Phantomhive to head out first. The rest followed suit and she exit her study last. She heard a lock behind her to signal that one of her servants locked the study, for a precaution for her and to signify that all the other interesting rooms are secure. She easily took her place in front the guests to lead them out of her mansion once more. She expressed her gratitude for the visit as they neared the main foyer. When they were in view of the double doors, she saw the Phantomhive butler standing in front of her.

No.

Normally, the butler would wait with the coachman outside the manor for an efficient departure. Dread started to foster inside her stomach the closer she approached the Phantomhive butler.

"My Lord, forgive me but our mode of transportation seems to have difficulties. If I may speak, Marchioness, may we intrude on your hospitality for a longer period."

She stared down on him as he bowed in front of her. She had enough of noble interaction to serve her for months, she refuses to let them stay a second longer. She didn't hesitate to move passed the butler, completely ignoring the man, nobility don't have to associate with the servants of other nobles.

"As much as I do appreciate your visit, I couldn't hold you any longer for all of you have your own activities to supervise."

She was exactly 2 steps away from hitting the door before they were quickly opened by two maids whose breathe seemed to lack as their chests heaved up and down rapidly most likely from rushing to open the doors. When she stepped outside from the top of the outside stairs she turned to her guests smiling pleasantly to all.

"Your ride awaits, and I do hope you have a safe travel home."

She stood to the side as Ciel's entourage slowly approached and stared at the carriage below. Two maids and her head butler stood to the left of the carriage near the coach and her horse keeper was feeding the horses two apples each seemingly content with the one human hear them. The carriage itself seemed to be in tip top shape, with a more vivid color than when they arrived. Ciel seemed to have a small frown adorn his face, not content with the outcome of his carriage restored as if it was just bought.

"My carriage is altered."

"No worries Earl, we didn't replace anything, everything you see is simple cleaning done on your carriage. We haven't touched the inside of the carriage at all. Nothing was altered, this is a courtesy for visiting the Laughleft manor."

The child stared at the vehicle as his butler overviewed the entire carriage. The butler expressed that the problems of the carriage that he seen before disappeared. The earl and his party nodded in gratitude towards Lady Laughleft for hosting them in an untimely manor. She watched as their carriage pulled away from the steps toward the opened gates. She stared after them even when their vehicle was no longer in view. The sun's dim rays shined in front of her before she vacated to the inside of her mansion.

She doesn't want to deal with the possibilities of the repercussions her actions of today will do for her in the future, right now she needed to relax and make only one move at a time. Maybe she wasn't as sly as she thought she was.

* * *

After their adventure in the Laughleft manor, his aunt, and the opium dealer he works with chat frivolously amongst themselves. He does not converse as freely as they do, introspecting his own mind, sorting the details and words of his latest encounter with the marchioness. He then began analyzing the trip he made.

* * *

When the noblewoman encountered Sebastian for the first time, she was completely enamored with him, as she should, that was normal. Typically, he found it boring when woman young, old, wise, or dumb repetitively fall for a man due to looks, disregarding status. She was like all the others as he watched the interaction of lady Laughleft and his demonic butler. Just when she was about to give his butler the yes to scour her mansion finding all her skeletons, one of her servants disrupted them by knocking on the door and standing in between her and his butler.

It was a peculiar move in itself, the way he decided to step in front of his butler as if her butler had a higher status than he, but paid no mind. He was more curious about the folder she was handed. It had no title, it was blank on the outside, and she didn't bother looking at it when she received, already has he deduced it was information that shouldn't be seen outside of her business or her personal life.

He gestured his butler with a come-hither motion as she was distracted with her own servant. Sebastian silently walked to Ciel awaiting the order he was bound to receive.

"I want to stay at the Laughleft manor."

"Yes, my Lord."

Sebastian casually walked backed to the position he was at when he confronted the Marchioness. She was watching the current servant that intrusively interrupted his speech, completely ignoring his butler's presence. How amusing, she was trying to resist Sebastian's charm. Once her servant was gone she turned her head, still ignoring Sebastian as she spoke to the nobles in her study.

"My oh my, look at the time. All of you must have some place to head right now, excuse me for taking up your day."

She bowed in a fake apologetic manner before ushering all of them out in a graceful and tactful way. Sebastian was the first one to exit the study to make true to his own whims. He could briefly hear a locking mechanism behind him, she locked her doors. With such a little action, he can confirm that she is hiding something of importance in her study. It was debatable that she didn't show her office due to customs and tradition, but her attitude toward them and the security she implemented in her office, even if it is just an iron lock, was proof enough. She easily made way to the front of his small party of nobles and began small chatter with all of them, including him, but only out of courtesy.

He felt a snide smile creep up to his face as he eyed Sebastian waiting patiently at the entrance of the manor. Check mate was supposed to be only one sentence away.

* * *

But it was all in vain, his ride was in better shape than when he arrived in and it felt like he was taken by surprise by a pawn switching into a bishop or knight. A seemingly impossible move was played and he was none the wiser. Now, he sits inside the game room of his mansion. In front of him was a chess board barely touched. It was set up as it was supposed to with all the pawns in a row, the special pieces in order and the king and queen untouched. He stared at the board desperately wanting to move a piece, to take control of the game, but couldn't. Instead he sat there with one arm supporting his chin and his legs crossed at the knee seemingly staring intently at the board game.

"Master it is near your regular sleep time. I must prepare you."

Ciel huffed before uncrossing his limbs and escorting himself to his chambers. He did not wait for Sebastian and expected him to just follow.

* * *

The demon was buttoning his master's sleepwear a gentle smile adorning his pale skin.

"Stop that sinister grin."

It grew wider instead.

"Young master, if I'm not mistaken my smile is disarming and gentle."

Ciel eyed his butler.

His smile wasn't out of place. It was innocent if he could use that term on a creature such as he. However, Ciel was no fool, the child has signed a contract to a devil. It may not be the one fantasized and theorized by the church authorities, but similar enough. Demons who prance in forms mocking mortals, whispering sweet sugar coated words with double meanings. They promise mortals' goals that are achievable if they bothered to stop and think about the situation at hand.

But Ciel Phantomhive was a completely different case. He called for the help of any saviors at a time where there was no way out. He called upon a being higher than himself when he was covered in a poor excuse of cloth surrounded by misguided worshippers; Ciel Phantomhive called upon a savior at his death bed. He defied the fates of his untimely arrival to the after world driven by pure emotion. It would be foolish even as he was captured to think that he didn't exhaust every possible option to escape the hands of the damned. The master was scared, desensitized, and confused to properly execute any of the plans he thought of when he was imprisoned. But he was his father's son.

"On a creature like you, nothing is disarming."

And weary he is, ever since the day he rescued the young master. Sebastian tucked his charge when he laid down, the only source of light coming from the oil lantern he brought along with him. The lord fell asleep a short while after. He excused himself from his master's bedroom and wandered the halls of the manor. The entire mansion now had a sinister and maniacal tone at night. The servants are light sleepers waiting for an intruder 24/7 and then there is he. A demon among humans, waiting to devour the soul of a child so young, so small, so prodigal.

The soul he wishes to feed upon is uncommon, not rare. It is a mass of contradictions, sweet yet savory, burning hot yet chilled. It was similar to the sensations of a cake with a crunch in the middle such as the Armenian keiv cake that Lady Laughleft was nibbling on earlier this day. The cake was uncommon in the noble courts of England, much less so in the country itself. Nobles pay no attention to out of the country products, but one in the east with very little importance is not what a noble of her status to dabble in.

When his master ordered him to find information about the mortal woman, she never checked the goods coming into the country herself. She ordered a maid or butler to check for her, giving them the numbers and what goods are coming inside or exiting the country. She doesn't exit her manor at all unless visiting the queen as it appeared. The maids do the shopping for the cooks among other duties. It also couldn't be the servants working for her; they did not travel or could have knew of the recipe for the cake she was eating. Every single servant came from England, even the colored ones were street rats who never knew of their birthland. He would have dismissed this little fact if he didn't require all the knowledge of this woman for his master. Small details such as this, are important when dealing with this woman for she perfected her façade of the perfect Victorian woman. Boring, if she was actually such a case, but she wasn't. Everything seemed to go perfectly for her, even the so-called tragedy of the Marquis Laughleft, the downfall of the Left-hand trading company, the debut of herself, and the rumors circulating around the noble court.

Everything seemed planned.

Now, he created a little theory to the mortal woman just to amuse his mind with little to no context, facts, or evidence to back up his claim.

Everything was planned.

* * *

A/N: Well, not entirely sure that this is proofread correctly. Thank you to all who comment, favorite, and followed the story. I feel so happy when I get a notification when someone comments or any of the previous mentioned. So I attempted to stay in past tense, please comment if there are any errors in the story. This chapter was kind of bland, but I hope you all enjoy it the same. See you next time.


	7. Chapter 7: Internal Ramblings

Another day, another dawn, Mistress Laughleft finished her routine stretches just before a butler appeared before her. She does not acknowledge him flitting around her room as she prepares for the day with 3 maids surrounding her. It has been a two months since the encounter of the young Earl of Phantomhive and she was just fine with how everything progressed smoothly from that point on. Honesty, this would be labeled as the calm before the storm, however whenever there is a storm involving her it never just rains, it pours.

She knew the repercussions began long ago before this seemingly time of peace for her, and she knew the child was no fool. It would be preposterous to fool herself that she successfully diverted the Earl's attention away from her person. Mistress Laughleft would be more surprised if Lord Phantomhive haven't already sick his sinfully gorgeous butler for information about her. Unfortunately, whenever her thoughts revolve around that creature she has only one of two plausible actions or thoughts entering her mind. One option she can remain repulsive of his entire being and remain distant from him, on the other she can take advantage of his flawless appearance and give her eyes some rest from the other noblemen who were a sight to cause sore eyes.

Dismissing her less than desirable train of thoughts she diverted her attention to the maid prepping her for the day. Once the morning rituals for Victorian women have subsided she went to her personal office for the day's work. It wasn't long before another maid knocked on her door and submissively bowed before her. The maid regained her composure and left a stack of papers on the corner of her desk.

"The Queen has sent documents she needs done before the end of this month."

The maid then left without another word, bowing once more before leaving her study. Lately she had switched her room of stay for the business matters. She would be fooling herself to say that the primary reason for conducting most of the business affairs in her office instead of her late husbands was due to the child noble. He was merely the pushing point. She didn't completely disregard her late husbands study. It became more of a storage facility of important documents for any troubles with other partners. She also conducted meetings inside the study. Her office is only used to finish documents, nothing is really stored in there except some sensitive information about her attempts since the passing of her husband. Anything previously owned or vaguely connected to the company is in her late husband's study.

The lady of the house grabbed the package that was delivered from the maid and skimmed the contents of the documents, making a few notes. After making a few notes and altering the real documents with her pen she switched over to trade agreements and other international files she was planning on finishing today. She set aside the queens documents seeing as she had time before she would have to send the documents back. The morning was left undisturbed after the maid dropped off the papers. Mistress Laughleft was finishing paper after paper at a routine pace. It wasn't until after lunch during one of her breaks she told one of her butlers to make room in her schedule.

"What transportation shall I make this evening."

"We are heading to the Viscount of Druitt's mansion."

"I assume we are transporting some cargo to Viscount Aleistor."

"Why else would we visit."

He bowed, whether in submissiveness or in an act of apology. He left as the noble woman continued to read and edit more documents. She had already changed into her evening apparel mimicking the colors of the England's flag, except in a pastel type of hue. She sighed and leaned back into her chair. Then she grabbed the recent documents that was added to her pile this morning from the queen. She was given a brief period of rest it seems.

In those documents, it was revealed that Earl Phantomhive has left his home and now on his way to a rural town far from London and his own estate.

The documents had a list of names and potential foreign traders that would benefit the country. However, it seems that she would not be dealing with the potential candidates this time around, peculiar yes. Unfortunately, it would not be the first-time Queen Victoria gave work to a different associate within the noble courts. Due to herself being a woman, social standing outside England are conservative in nature. When dealing with counties outside their power or powerful allies with as much sway as the queen herself, the queen would send out male representatives to satisfy the wants of the outsider. They would eventually meet with her; every one of them would be condescending at first, but if they choose to be ignorant or remain difficult they would find themselves in a personal and financial bankruptcy. And with a last ditch effort to those who refused to conform would give their company to either her or one of her associates. This was how rumors were created, but it wouldn't give her prestige outside of England. All the credit would go to the Queen Victoria. The Queen would be represented as the mastermind, while she played the part of the pawn. It was a system that gave her a certain edge and was much more profitable to her in the long run.

However this document was particular as it had a certain name etched into it. The person who will drag the candidates into England's economy is not someone in her normal clique of pervasive politicians, sly wordsmiths, and conniving connoisseurs. _Ciel Phantomhive_ was beautifully formatted on the paper. He is the toy and candy maker of England with very little presence on an international level, lacks a widespread audience, and half of his goods are perishables despite the long shelf life. He is a boy with a maximum of 12 years of life, 3-5 years with no ability to comprehend anything, but verbal communications 6 to 8 years of childish whims and pampering, and almost an entire year of silence due to his disappearance. He knows next to nothing of economics, or manipulative bargaining. His methods are crass and straightforward, completely ill fitted for this specific field. Noble manipulation is completely different with business manipulation. Those who try to combine them are either dead by their stupidity or very soon to be dead. Lilith Laughleft, the lady of the manor, could accurately state that nobleman, Earl Phantomhive, is inadequate to fill this position.

However, who is she to question the queen.

Instead of questioning the Queen's mentality or stressing about the intricate, but fragile state of the web she created for their foreign neighbors, she made use to his absence. She needed to deliver a few supplies to the flamboyant viscount that require even less communication than what was needed in her house to avoid suspicion. Mistress Laughleft would like to consider herself a genius, at least in this her current predicament. She could not deny that she enjoys the feeling of power, that she is cocky, prideful, or otherwise. But even when the earl left to his mansion in the provinces outside the city of London one month ago, it would be unwise to not predict that he left someone to watch over her.

And with her knowledge she knows that the person in charge of gathering as much intel on her always stay by his side. A butler's duty can be so demanding.

She smiled in quiet, letting her guard down knowing the person tracking her every move is not looking. Her smile was one filled with mischievous intentions, however it seemed the most natural and relaxed expression she has given in a while.

She knew the Earl should be on his way to the potential trading partners' homes; he would be far, far away from the city and away from her.

She placed the files of the latest request from Queen Victoria on the top of the other documents on her desk. She would do a complete analysis of the documents when she came back from her trip from Aleistor's mansion. She was grateful he primarily stayed within the city of London close to the noble courts. If he had made his villa outside the city of London his main place of residence then she wouldn't have been able to help him as much as she would have liked, and since the name she held dealt with exports and imports handling she would be at a disadvantage rather than an advantage.

She started to put away her fountain pen, the ink vile, glasses, etcetera. When she was done, the sun was still shining on her patio outside but left her office only in a highlighted glow. She approached the door to the hallway of her mansion and it was opened by one of her maids. The maid bowed as Mistress Laughleft passed her. Every hallway she walked into have a minimum of 2 servants in each corridor; all of which were executing their jobs in an efficient manner.

She eventually made it to the main entrance to the mansion with a carriage waiting for her. She was off to the Viscount of Druitt's abode. She was heading to the place where Aleistor chambers resided, with his order of cargo in tow.

"Mistress, some of the cargo will awake before we reach our destination. I recommend sedating them half way into the trip. You will be compensated with a snack during the time we put them back under."

"No need. If they are smart they will stay as quiet as an ant unless they would like to be treated like their comrades."

"Yes, my mistress."

Lilith Laughleft reminisced the time she tried to plague her hand dealing with the black market. However, a year is hardly any time to do any serious transactions, before nobleman Ciel Phantomhive came back from his short hiatus. Her hands are still stained, but only minuscule, and she was willing to keep this connection underneath the cobblestone streets of England. She may have stained her hands already, but that what gloves are for.

* * *

"I am graced with your presence once again. I'd hope that you would have come sooner."

Aleistor kissed the gloved hand of the pale Victorian beauty, but clenched her hand firmer than necessary. His butlers and the few she brought were transporting his cargo to one of his private room in his mansion. Courtesy from the Marchioness, she had brought all his cargo plus some extra. The noblewoman smiled her graceful and enchanting smile, but his grip on grew stronger when he refused to let go.

The last time he saw her was short of 3 months ago, a very long time considering they visit each other twice every month minimally. 3 months of silence was taxing and stressful. He may have grown attached to the widowed Laughleft unhealthily, however she was still precious in his own plans, if she were to fall, he would lose momentum to carry on in his work.

She fueled him in terms of motivation and by means of supplies, he wouldn't downright fall like he was in some balancing act, but his transgression to a lower status would be a slow descend of agony. She was still important to his own agenda and might forever be depending on how things may play out.

Lilith Laughleft continued to smile and relaxed her hand even if that would allow the viscount to crush her hand, by her relaxation the viscount finally released his grip on her hand. Aware that his maid started to gossip around the corner of the entrance.

"I must concede that I promised to visit soon, nevertheless I had work that continuously piled up day after day."

He gave an enchanting smile to Mistress Laughleft and started to lead her to his office.

"Well as the saying goes, distance makes the heart grow fonder. Please we have much to discuss since the last time we acquainted one another."

The noblewoman simply nodded and followed the blonde Englishman. However, while the Viscount grows fonder of Mistress Laughleft, she grows colder. She rather quote "Out of sight, out of mind". She had not thought of the flamboyant male since their last encounter, she was animatedly diving into her work. For every day that passed, certain events in world history approaches and she would be damned if she was not at least faultily prepared for the disasters that were sure to come. Her head was constantly obscured with economic plans, historic events, and a certain 13 years' young boy who had gained the fortune of one of the most well-known nobles.

No, she had no time for the man who was leading her to the room with no windows and few furniture. The room she and he met in person the night of the ball. That particular ball was a little under a year ago, the first year the Phantomhive came back from an abyss of nothing. Prior to his entrance back to England society, she was merely just contacting the Viscount via mail, servants, or otherwise, but never in person. The viscount was part of the underground trade way before her. But like Mistress Laughleft, Viscount Chamber never tainted his hands until recently. He was once entertained by merely watching in the sidelines of dealings, now he has become a player. And with the help of the woman he was leading, he became powerful.

She just noticed that time was growing in a rapid fashion. In a few months' time, it would be the start of plot. At least from her rough estimate of knowledge. However, the knowledge she contains never specified when this or this happened. The only book mark she can gauge time is the Phantomhive's birthday and he was still 12 when the story started. The events that happened before are completely untraceable. It could span in the course of the months prior to his aged self or they can snowball right after the other.

This reminded her of Sir Damien. From her fallible knowledge, she believed he was the action that rolled the series into motion, but she remembers briefly that there could be references of other events that happened prior before the foolish lower class nobleman would attempt to swindle money out of the child noble's pockets.

"Mar…"

She was already at a disadvantage when she dropped into this world.

"…ess?"

Ciel is a natural child prodigy, she can only hold out for so long.

"-archion-"

She needed to verify her knowledge, write down what she knows.

"Marchi-"

But it would be too dangerous, the child is trilingual. She remembers that he spoke French and Latin. She only knew French.

"Marchioness!"

The only advantage she had since stumbling into this world is her foreknowledge and her general knowledge of the 21st century.

"Marchioness!"

She was not even that extraordinary in her time, maybe a genius now due to limited comprehension of the world, but that is only due to time and limited life spans in this time era.

"Marchioness!"

Even so, she knows that there are events here that didn't happen in her time, or events in her time that didn't correspond correctly to how it was taught to her. Trying to comprehend and attempt to prepare for it was an impossible deed.

"Lilith."

A gloved hand swept across the Viscount of Druitt's face. The woman stared coldly at the man before her, not completely aware of her surroundings besides the fireplace that grew in the center of the far wall. She was once again back inside that room. The room she conversed with the man she just slapped a little under a year ago, the single chair was replaced by a long couch and the room was slightly more furnished as it was filled with scattered crates. Some of them were opened and empty, the others were still closed.

"Never address me by my name again Chambers."

Aleistor merely grabbed the hand she slapped him with and lead them to the couch near the fireplace. There was only ever one man who called her by her given name and that was the Marquis she was once wedded to. Lilith Laughleft stared at the fire once more before they started to discuss business.

"I see you've already gone through all the supplies I sent you last time."

He didn't bother to talk and merely listened to the green-eyed woman. He is of lower status than her and even though she is a woman who was married into nobility, she still could get rid of him. She was a Marchioness, second highest rank just under the royal family; she controls Britain's economic safety and she is one of the Queen's favorites. She was not one to threaten lightly. And he will not make the mistake of trying to overpower her.

She explained to Aleistor that she has his goods and to tread lightly. She may be able to get goods in and out of England, however she does not control who protects the goods, who distributes them, and who is sniffing for a case. She warned him how London has started to tighten up security starting with the rural roads and ending back here to the city of London. She also explained why she couldn't come earlier, why she stopped contact, and other business related contacts.

"This is the last time I am doing this."

At this he interrupted.

"Why my sweet? I need you to be my supplier or my underground trade will diminish!"

He cannot let her stop. He got all his goods from her, and because of her he was able to fly under the radar of the queen's eye. Rumors of underground organizations being uprooted started to surface; this was a horrible time for him to go solo.

"I can no longer keep the goods you need in my house hold for an indefinite amount of time. I am being observed and I refuse to be caught doing such disgraceful deeds. I will release any undocumented materials to the black market itself. You will have to find it and purchase the materials you need yourself."

The pale Victorian woman stood up and started to make her way to the only exit in the room. She paused before she opened the door.

"I recommend learning the ropes to the black market soon. The materials will be released by then end of next week."

She opened the door and left the room intending to also leave the mansion. She was kind enough to close the door after she left, leaving the Viscount to stare at the fire contemplating his next move. Luckily some of the clients he gained with his business venture have a few contacts that are more than willing to help him break into the black world unseen. Now, the question he ponders most is how to evade the kid noble.

* * *

A/N: Originally this was longer and edited better however just as I was saving this chapter, stupid system crashed. I added and make changes at the very end of everything. There was also a longer authors note, but you know really lazy right now and its like 2 am where I am. I found a beta, but wont be working for a while, so until them still cope with my misuse of grammar mistakes. Just warning you guys now, but my sense of timing may be screwed up, so this may jump from time to times and if I do that/ Please warn me so I can adjust the time accordingly. It really is simple as changing a few numbers or copy and pasting. Please let me know.

This chapter focused on Aleistor. I try to incorporate their personalities as much as possible with by own knowledge, but still generalize them enough to add more nuances to their personality. In short, I'm trying to be generally specific if that makes sense. I am still doing a few pre-story chapters, develop some relationships, add a few more relationships, give more characterization to Lilith. you know the works. Excuse my use of more American based idioms, I wish to incorporate more British idioms and more of a British style tone for the entirety of this story, but that may be a bit difficult. See you next time. I'm just rambling now.


	8. Chapter 8: The set up

The blonde Viscount sat inside his study in his mansion. Many nobles were not surprised as it is custom for the man of the house to have a study; using it was a voluntary action. However, many noblemen would be surprised Aleistor had actual use to the room. Currently, he was occupying the love seat that was in front of his desk. He was reading a classic play from Shakespeare. His love of drama vied against his love of the peculiar. Theatrical performances were his entire persona with the grandiose galas he hosted to the overly luxurious mansion he owned. Theater was the home of facades.

It took almost no time for him to compare it to the noble lifestyles people of lower class could only dream of. Every noble including the queen puts up another face. They strive to hide the skeletons in cabinets or keep the monster in the cellar. To be anything less than grand is inconceivable. Nobles can pick on the weak, order the poor, or even have multiple wives if they so wish, but a noble cannot erase the past. The past is what haunts them, because no matter how long ago an event took place, it always exposed its ugly face.

In theatre, the audience was always aware of the horrid pasts of the characters and their current blunders. It was always thrilling and hilarious to see the misgivings of others… if it's not happening to them.

But that was beside the point. It was different knowing someone has skeletons, then having the evidence of those skeletons. In theatre the audience knows everything, that's why he was always on the sidelines, merely observing the chaos unfolding. Yet, somewhere in his being, he craved to be part of it; his need to be a character and not an audience member grew.

So, he started small and gained the attention of the infamous Mistress Laughleft. It seemed like the right move. At the time, he wasn't aware that she played more than one part in the play.

He had never thought a single woman would be more entertaining than the art form. He began to see why many noblemen pry for the widowed Laughleft's heart. In society, she should have been ostracized, disgraced in public, and be the end of every pompous joke. Certainly, there was time where she was, and every abled person tried to demean her. He was one of the many that disregarded her fallen status and her illegitimacy. However, he was wise and never vocally expressed it. Those who knew how to hold their tongue always survive. Now, those who did degrade her publicly are currently banned from most if not all noble gatherings and some are jailed.

Well known and wealthy aristocrats were behind unforgiving iron courtesy of Marchioness Laughleft. Their secrets were exposed publicly and tarnished their title. It was the year Scotland Yard was being held in such high regards with famous with headlines such as "Scotland Yard Bust spree" or "Deceitful deals within Dignitaries". She was directing the entire country of England to her liking. At least that was implied to those with high education; there was no evidence that it was her and some can call it a fluke of luck on Scotland Yard. But the fact remains that the only connections they all had was bad mouthing the marchioness. It was so seamlessly done, it felt like a staged play for the sole purpose to intimidate or entertain the nobles around her. Where ever she went, whoever she associated with, a storm of rumors and stories were told without her presence or validation. It became a common topic in most social events; wild speculation was often created just for musing and humor. But there were rumors that weren't actual rumors.

 _Mistress Laughleft became the queens favorite._

 _She owns everything that Marquis Laughleft left behind. Everything._

 _She owns everyone, even the queen._

All of them have their ludicrously. Queen's favorite? She was a married-in noblewoman who originally came from the streets, she is woman thus she is weak will and minded.

The ill- fated marquis left his entire earnings and property to a woman? Absurd! His company will fall, she is not an intellectual within the field. Wife status be damned, she would have to be passed off to the next man of the house like a common whore.

Now the inanest rumor that it was almost considered heresy. She owned the Queen. That statement itself would make any person, nobles or street rats, be thrown into jail. Of course, she couldn't own the queen, it is still a rumor that floats occasionally, but for those who worked with her, for her, or even against her began to question how valid that statement truly is.

It's crazy, he knew this, her colleagues knew this, her rivals knew. Nevertheless, hearing and seeing are two different senses of the human body. He saw how she manipulate her enemies to her will, how she directed them with a subtle smile. It was impressive, admirable, and frightening for anyone that could witness. Yet, she still mesmerizes all. It is a mystery among men, what makes her so desirable, so inviting to even think of jeopardizing their prestige in the delicate England echelon? It was like the fable of Pandora's box. She is the mystery, the sin, the temptation, and every male is dedicated to be playing the fool to open that box.

He knew he's playing with someone who seemed to know the devil himself. He is Eve, she is the snake. He is Achilles and she is Paris. He is Romeo and she is the bishop who misinforms him about the death of Juliet.

He placed his book down _Antony and Cleopatra._ A truly complexing work of art. He enjoyed all Shakespearean works as they stood equal when facing time. However, _Antony and Cleopatra_ and _Julius Caesar_ became plays that revolves around tragedy, comedy, romance, and historic events. They are debated among many on the true genre or theme these plays hold. He found life funny with a dry type of humor. This was Marchioness Laughleft's favorite play. He expected the provocative woman to love a controversial play. The play held many concepts for anyone to debate what the main argument is. The nuanced work was compelling and lovely.

Cleopatra was Antony's concubine. The queen of Egypt being a mere lover for the fancies of a Roman ruler. However, like the Victorian beauty, Cleopatra had the man wrapped around her fingers. Unparalleled beauty, power, a title, and brains: a recipe created from God, then molded by the devil. When most men, including him, watched to read the play they saw war, blood, a political agenda behind these stories. The marchioness saw a woman who triggered the events by the mention of her name.

For Antony, Cleopatra was his love.

 _"_ _Foe the vilest things. Becomes themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish."_

For Enobarbus, he saw Cleopatra as a witch who played Antony.

 _"_ _I saw her once_

 _Hop forty paces through the public street,_

 _And having lost her breath, she spoke and panted,_

 _That she did make defect perfection,_

 _And breathless, pour forth breath."_

Cleopatra must feel the same?

 _"_ _Sir, you and I have loved, but there's not it;_

 _That you know well. Something it is I would—_

 _O, my oblivion is a very Antony"_

But the betrayal.

 _"_ _Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine,"_

Antony was not wrong, but neither was she.

 _"_ _I'th' posture of a whore,"_

Image. Image was everything. It was then, it is now, and it will forever. Cleopatra wasn't really upset of Antony's death, she was upset her title will be tarnished. Antony choose suicide because of love and guilt, Cleopatra chose suicide to save face. The new perspective to this classic gave him the chills. A very haunting feel if this was the focus theme for the story. He never thought of it in this way until the marchioness mentioned it. He would've dismissed her because even though she is a queen's favorite, nobles, especially him, can be hard to change perspectives. In addition, she could not rule his mind. Still he found himself picking up a script of the play and curiously payed close attention to Cleopatra. The more he read, Marchioness Laughleft's argument became sound.

A few meetings later she brought up how her perspective of the Shakespearean play was sound. He knew he never mentioned it to her before, and the script was nowhere in sight. He asked her how? He remembered her words.

"Curiosity is provocative."

The script was placed on the coffee table that was in front of him. He didn't move to pick up the piece as he stood from his chair and brushed off the imaginary dust on his attire. He exited his study planning to meet up with one of his contacts for his less than ideal past time activities. The green-eyed beauty may have left him to his own devices, but she never truly abandoned him. He walked to the entrance of his estate and saw an impeccably dressed man with an excess amount of grandeur that he did not deserve. His hair was brown along with his facial hair. He was still considered young to be considered handsome, despite his growing age.

"Viscount Chambers. Lovely mansion you have."

However, he was still a simple merchant. A person nowhere near his status and someone who couldn't touch him even with his conniving tricks. He smiled, his well-known flamboyant personality started to emerge.

"We have business matters to discuss! Let's have lunch while we're at it!"

Both gentlemen made their way to one of the parlor rooms in the mansion. If Lady Laughleft said this man will be beneficial to him in the future, he was willing to believe every word she said.

* * *

After her trip from the gaudy viscount she entered her carriage and sat in silence. She had another destination to arrive at. She was visiting one of her more difficult contacts. Ever since she came to this world, she never felt as much fear and adrenaline when encountering this man. She was pulled to him like a moth to a flame, a duck to water, or a cloud to the sky. She was addicted to him in a way that wasn't healthy… Also in a way that was against her will. However, if one thought about the human life, at the infantile state, human children must breathe oxygen to survive and adapt in a span of one minute. The child never breathed in oxygen, (with its debatable nine months of growing) but with fluids provided by the host woman (and she did intend host, some children are not born out of love or even permission). For the metaphor's sake, she is the child and he is the air; the sick, polluted, and poisonous air, but air nonetheless. Her mind wanders into more universally thought-provoking questions. Some that will never have answers and some just idiotic questions that became punch lines of horrid jokes.

"Mistress?"

She focused her attention to the small opening of her carriage. She may have been lost in thought, but she was still in her noblewoman façade. If one would bother to consider her eyes, they would know whether she was paying attention or not due to the dilation of the iris. She would not be caught off guard by her servants, they were all gossiping wenches overall. She slowly turned her head to the door of her ride and saw her most constant servant standing still not reacting to her slow response. She raised a single eyebrow, but did not mention anything. Though it was unusual for servants to show concern to their masters, she didn't particularly mind it, but it reminds her too much of her more childish years.

"I am well. Do not fret." She gave a gentle smile to the help, before stepping out. Night already seized London and the slags basked in the red glow of the night. Filthy, uncouth, and rowdy chavs stalk the night picking these slags off the streets like picking grapes off a vine. It was too late for her to be prancing around even if a male accompanied her. She is in danger if the night was high and she was outside of her estate. Everything is fair game. Her status could be revoked if seen by the wrong person, dignity can be tarnished in a single night, her virginity was up for grabs to whoever was able to pin her down and take it by force. Everything she worked for could be destroyed merely because she refuses to set herself a curfew. But this was a risk she was willing to take. For solely her selfish desires.

She exited her carriage and made her way to the coffin shop. It was dingy and shambolic. The sight made her want to cringe at the place of residence, and the smell of rotting flesh was always permanent. Her butler opened the door to the mortician's little workshop; she halted him or any other slave to go in with her. This was personal.

"I shall take 15 minutes of this man's time; late arrivals will be punished."

She entered the morgue with careful footing, since scattered coffins were strewn all over the place. Unsightly. She made her way to the counter of his haphazardly designed space and gave a time limit of 2 minutes for him to give. Without warning she cracked her neck, slouched her posture and released her hair from its simple half do.

"I didn't order a slag, today? How peculiar."

She knew when she entered his property, his territory, this playground, he would no doubt be here, but a sliver part of her so dearly wished that he would be dead and never to be seen again. It was wishful thinking on her part. A fool's dream, she was sure.

She dismissed his comment. She knew he was trying to rile her up. It would've worked if she wasn't here for business. Her mental barriers were already up and receiving the blows. She only needs to withstand 13 minutes.

"Only today? I wonder what you pay them since you abhor the Queen's money."

"Ah curious, are we? I pay them by making them beautiful."

He slowly traced the nape of her neck before quickly slicing across it. The Undertaker pranced around his shop. Disturbingly he already knew this woman's height, size, and style. She was born with one foot in the grave and he already had a coffin for her to fill. Now only if she died would he be elated. He has a variety of makeup and he had enough skill to sneak inside her manor and dress her in the greediest silk in the most superfluous design. Then when the public funeral was over and everyone forgot about the "perfect Victorian woman" would he dress her again. This time in her true colors. Only then would he have free reign of what she would wear, what she would look like, and create a model body for his coffins. Imagine. Her skin paler than it already is, her eyes dulled and glassy, her temperature dropping to the cold streets of London in winter. Oh, the day of her death will truly be glorious! Unlike many woman, he would miss her quirks and absolutely amusing attitude, but then again, he always preferred silence over a socialite, plus he had an earl that could entertain him, so it won't be a total loss.

"I wonder what the nobles would say about this side of you."

He eyed the noble woman. When she entered his shop, she dropped her uptight façade. It was amusing only when other nobles were blind to her true self. She knew not to bring that pitiful act here. It was disgusting and repulsive. Jobs where he had to dress other nobles were always a chore. Many nobles wished to be remembered by their acts of goodwill, not their heinous crimes. In death, there should be no regrets, yet regrets remain. In death should be truth, not more lies.

However, the marchioness is an… anomaly. She still lies, but owns up to her faults. She is blunt with her intentions, yet speak with words that circle around the main subject. There a people out there like her, her type is common, but she is somehow more amusing than the rest.

She is far from being his favorite to rile, he had a fine selection of amusing people in England after all.

"Nothing, because no noble would call me a slag."

The undertaker grinned, Lilith purposely chose to ignore his train of thought going through his head. He was well acquainted with her since she was a youngling. She knew much about him as did he knew about her. She used to bring out his inner skepticism before, but now he welcomes it. Curiosity is such a fickle action. And when it came to her curiosity about him, she would like to stay ignorant. Not long ago when she would guess what goes on in his mind, the Undertaker figured out that she over thinks things, quite easily too.

Lilith knew the Undertaker would mess with her mind' all those mental barriers be damned if she was the cause of her own plight. Her advance critical, but overthought, thinking was an advantage as much as it was a weakness. He used that to his advantage and made Lilith's mind run a marathon a minute. He would be a sudoku puzzle one day, a jigsaw puzzle the next, then somehow become a basic hop scotch game. In other words, he could be vague and misconstrued or honest and straightforward. She is more accustomed to speech patterns made up of blunt riddles and double meanings. Yet, when he spoke to her in a straight manner, her brain shut down. She would not lie when she was racking her brain for hidden meanings that were not there. The Undertaker, particularly, laughed at her misery. Surely, it was an amusing sight for him. She concedes a temporary defeat by ignoring his words, her version of a pout. She will get him back, she just doesn't know when… or how.

"I know one person who would."

She also knew who would question her character without any dire repercussions enforced on them. It was insulting considering she is a higher rank than he. Lilith breathed in and out, soaking in the decaying scent wafting in the air. Not the most pleasant scent, but the man before her pulled on strings she didn't know she had. In her other life, she admired the man before her, being a comically diabolical character. However, she was in no position to enjoy her once favorite character; now she is on the other side of his stick being poked and prodded like some doll. Empathizing wasn't her strong suit, but she can understand the victims' woes.

She actively shook her head, unbecoming she knows, but she is in a "safe" zone. All grace and masks were off. Was she a fool to let her guard down in front of him? Absolutely. Will she do it again? As long as the Undertaker completes his part of the bargain.

"You have news for me," she stated. Her usually sugar filled voice was replaced by her gravelly voice. Naturally she was a tenor, a deep, unlady like voice that was disgusting in this time period, but highly appreciated in the upcoming decades. It used to be favored with its low-pitched tone and seductive growls. However, in England it is un-lady like to posess a voice deeper than a pubescent boy and to have vocal chords lower than a soprano. Standards change, but not in this life span. Disease, filth, and supernatural entities suffocating the artificial life of man, she wouldn't live to see the official movement of women's suffrage. Although, she wasn't sure if she would see it all. History was never her strong suit.

"Ah, you know the price."

Diabolical man. Her entire life was a show for him, what more did he want? He has more than enough playthings to tickle. She was only complying with him because she was a fool when she was younger. She bit off more than she can chew, and when she tried to spit it out, he gave her more. He supplied her with just the right amount of information to royally screw all her previous plans. In addition, she knew he was laughing at the mere thought of her dead corpse. She could proclaim with confidence that she knew the man before her, but it was that relationship she developed that got her into this mess.

"You were manically laughing at all the possible choices of my dead body; I count that as a win."

The Undertaker laughed. She knew him well. Years of knowing her was certainly a treat and she continuously feeds his entertainment. He decided to give the perfect Victorian woman some peace of mind by giving the information she so direly want to know. Not need, no matter what she decrees, his information is merely a want that others envy. Knowledge is a privilege not a right. A man can go all his life without knowing every single detail in the universe. There is some truth in "ignorance is a bliss". Nothing is truly a need, but a want. The only things people need are the bare necessities in life. Anything else like silk, cotton robes, a large estate, and fish egg spread are wants.

"Well..."

Once he finished relaying the information she wanted, she stood up from her seat and made her way to the door.

"I will take my leave now."

She quickly fixed her attire as she carefully maneuvered around the coffins once again to leave. However, when does he ever make it easy to leave.

"Aw, but we never see each other anymore!"

Before she can react, the Undertaker was behind her, his black, nail polished fingernail pressed against her neck. It was located where her jugular artery would have been. Was the nail always this sharp?

"Plus, I really wish for you to try your coffin." He continued.

It was in the back, she knew. They discussed all topics of her death. She remembered vividly, because that was the first encounter she had with him. It was also the time she made the biggest blunder of her life. Although, she would never admit it.

"Time will cease for me. Be patient, you have a lot of that."

Her mask was back on. How irking. Their time of play was now over and it was back to the tedious life she chose to possess. He understood why she chose the path she was on, and it was very exciting to watch her get to this point, but at times like these, that noble life seemed to bothersome.

She exited out his shop without another delay. He looked at the clock in his shop.

15 minutes exactly. He hummed, she was so punctual with her timings. He stared back at the door and chuckled a bit. He couldn't wait till dog Phantomhive really starts delving into her business. Now that was a catastrophe just dying for him to watch. The days of stillness will cease, and an entertaining show will begin.

Lilith was doomed from the start.

* * *

AN: Just saying I did warn about non-linear and sporadic updates. So here is a little bit more of the story, glad people still like it. Some British slag scattered and few fancy vocabulary thrown in. Hopefully I used them right. I don't like repetition so I try to diversify my words, but they don't always come out as intended. There is also a bit of Shakespeare; it not really important and if you haven't red the play it may be had to understand the passages I referenced. If you truly want to know what those passages mean, just sparknote it. I grabbed the quotes from there, but I have a slightly different view of the play so it doesn't translate exactly what I perceive it as, but it does a great job with its explanation.


	9. Chapter 9: Acknowledgement

_Breathe. It was fine. Just a minor setback._ The pale heroine tried to calm her breathing. It was late night, her servants slept quietly, the moon was blocked by the eerie mist that plagued England, and no one was around. Her thoughts ran amok in the privacy of her mind. Her hand begged to twitch due to pent up irritation. Her room was pitched black sans the outside light. Which wasn't much help at all; it just gave her a vague idea where the window is by the slight off color.

She lived in this mansion for 8 years, she plotted for 9, and she came here to this era for 13. Her happenings weren't like the ones she read via religious text, or some supreme being. Not even something out of fiction. Her circumstances were incidental and by chance. One she wished to never encounter again. She was insane, she knew this. Her mentality is now royally screwed. Stress keeps piling up and now it keeps her awake at night.

 _Breathe._

Breathing, it fools her, giving her a glimmer that she is alive (however she wished to be dead). Her knowledge is superior in every way compared to her "current" peer group. Yet she acknowledges that they will never see her as an equal, but as a conquest. Everything that she was used to was stripped and nonexistent until a later date. She does not care that she took everything for granted, she does the same with her current predicament. People were just animals with higher brain processing power. The same power which lead to their own destruction and creations. They are creatures with a control complex. As people, they twist, pull, and tug at her puppet thin strings; they want to see her dance.

And dance she shall.

They couldn't see that she has been dancing to their tune the entire time. She would be lying if she said she got to where she was now all by her lonesome self. She had been brutally honest since the very beginning. A person cannot live if they do not conform, if they do not adapt. If it was possible to live with whatever they were blessed with there would be no need for natural selection. Charles Darwin was no fool when he observed the weak species dying and the strong ones surviving. They key difference between the two: adaptability. Then those with exceptional talents, luck, and skill flourished.

Her exceptional talent? Honesty. She is naturally cynical, a manipulative witch, and human. Oh, so very human; she is flawed to the bone and she **embraces** it. She told every noble she creates the most convincing masks. She mentions to them she does not care for the queen. She told her late fiancée that she is selfish. However, the most hurtful truth she chants every day to the point where the street rats of London know is …

…That she was lost.

Lilith knows what she wanted, she found some demeaning ways to achieve her goals, but even so she lacks direction. She knows the end goal, but doesn't know the first step. The most unfortunate part, was that the person who could lead her to the right direction won't help her without a price.

 _"_ _Entertainment my sweet" Mr. Laughleft muttered to her in a wondrously sugary way. She had asked a simple question to her fiancé. Many nobles are bored with their lives, even if they have everything they ever wanted. Yet, they still desire more._

 _She looked out into the grand ball hosted at the Laughleft manor. The ballroom was covering in white, gold, and red. Everyone was required to dress in the color scheme of the manor. Everyone but she. She was dressed in black. This was her first ball since betrothed to Marquis Laughleft. She met many people and she was overwhelmed. She left the ball to stroll in the garden, there she met a stranger covered in black robes like her. They conversed, he laughed, and she cried. It took her a while to piece the puzzle together, but when she did it was too late. "Why need the queen's money, if I can laugh the rest of my days."_

Entertainment dictates motives, create masterminds, and make every day worth living. However, it can also be the cause of insanity, of genocide, of historic tragedies. She agreed, entertainment is a factor no one can live without. For that is why she still moves, breathes, and takes actions. It is why the Undertaker, for the diabolical man he is, request a joke instead of pounds. Money only has value if we let it have value. Mortal thought amuses him, but even that becomes stale as life moves on. Entertainment is different for everyone, for some it is merely seeing the theatre every so often, for others it is creating a monopoly out of a single industry, for her it is taking events in strides.

The butterfly affect is a theory she found amusing, one she believed more than the dominant faith residing in England. That is why she treads on open water and create ripples of her own. Her mind is not feeble and she refuses succumb to the low levels of education they give to woman here. Why must she know how to properly hold a fan instead of learning about Murphy's law? No matter, she would be a certified genius in this time era if she ever took an IQ test. In addition, she already learned all proper roles of etiquette when she was introduced into this manor. Her life before the manor was laughable.

Ah, life.

Not the life she had before the manor, but the life she "originally" lived. She was a fool. She did not weep when she left. She always believed she would go back no matter the circumstance. Yet, 13 years later she remains. Her own personal purgatory. She danced her way in to get to the position she has now, and she did careful planning to make events go the ways she needed them to be. Time moved forward and never stopped, so she made herself busy.

She _chose_ to be empathetic with people, she _chose_ to be the fiancée to a Marquis, every decision she made so far was of her own accord, no matter how it looked to a third eye. If she fell here, she won't be able to get up again. This was not a balancing act, this wasn't a thin line to walk; this entire situation was a big game of hide and seek. She hid in the most contradicting way, by drawing attention within the noble courts. Specifically targeting the gossiping wives of the nobles.

Women have no power. Woman were inferior. They were subjected to double standards, they were gossips, and they were harlots. The difference between a noblewoman and a slag was one was fertile, and it isn't the noble. This was supposed to be a progressive era, yet conservative traditions were a fickle thing to change.

Oh, but the men had power. They can flaunt it to whomever they desire and get no criticism or backlash unless it was from another noble. With that power, they can appoint anyone to anything. An author to a position in parliament, a street rat to an adopted son, a harlot to a noblewoman, and a butler to a royal guard. However, they can also do the opposite. With her fiancé's name, she was a nobody turned into a somebody and she continued to grow beautifully.

Lilith got out of bed and searched her night stand for an oil lamp. She needed a walk. She wore one of her late fiancée's pants under her night gown. That was her reminder of her goal and what it took to get even a step closer to it. She found the oil lamp, but no match. She resigned herself to her own fate. She maneuvered herself around the stand then vigilantly attempted to reach her chamber room door. She stumbled and tripped even in her snail like pace. Whoever said darkness was a friend, was a liar.

She eventually made it to the door and roamed the hallways. They were adorned with more light than what her room provided only because of the torches that were a lit outside. Windows were plentiful, a design that the late Marquis loved. She turned to another hallway and focused on her bare feet make contact with the clothed floor. She reached a balcony that overlook the small town that surrounded her. Some lights remained on, while others were black as night. This small pseudo town was subjected to failed economic situations. This was the estate that her late fiancée would have wanted. He planned to use this town as an experiment of economic downturns and rises, all for the sake of the Queen. But now, he lies 6 feet underground in a marked grave of his ancestors. He didn't even produce a "rightful" heir. How unfortunate.

Gratefully, the town was completed before his untimely arrival, and was given to her. Everything he owned belonged to her. She hopped on the thick, concrete railings of the balcony and positioned herself to continue facing the town. She sat with mediocre grace. It was a position unsuitable for a noblewoman, but gave a picturesque feeling. She sat there for only a brief moment to let all of her thought run havoc in her mind. Her thoughts weren't sequential and jumped from topic to topic.

"Milady?"

She hummed in acknowledgement. She was used to her servants popping in and out of everywhere. Nonverbal communication promotes actions that produce results. Anyone could say they could do something, but proving it is another matter. She wasn't aware of the time of when the first worker would be up, why would she? It doesn't affect their job or hers, so it was a detail subjected to Ockham's razor. He didn't speak up for a while so she turned her body to face him.

The man looked toward his "boss" in the dark sky of early mornings. As far he was concerned the mistress doesn't wake up until 7 o'clock exactly every morning and doesn't leave her room until 8. So, when he was on his way to the servant quarters, he was surprised to see anyone up this early. Even Sir Clyde wasn't up yet. The only excuse for him was because he was working on an experimental acid that was time specific on cultivation. At least that was what he assumed as all previous experiments failed.

He expected to see no one up yet, so when he randomly saw a person out in the balcony he went to see who was up. He definitely wasn't expecting to see the lady of the house, especially perched on the balcony's railings so haphazardly. He called out to her, not anticipating what to do next. She noticed him and gave a hum. But now he was at lost on what to do? He hasn't been in this manor long enough to know his mistress's normal behavior. Although some may argue a year should be sufficient, for a third of that year he was trying to keep pace with the nonverbal demands and expectations, then majority of the time was spent in his labs dealing with intruders or his own personal experiments.

For an entire year, he hadn't seen much of the lady who owns the Left-hand Trading Company. Now, none of his prior experience as a butler or even a chemist would help him deal with the very woman who can fire him. He truly was a fool.

"You are new here, aren't you?"

He flinched, he wasn't exactly new. He worked here for a year.

"A year milady."

Lilith tilted her head in way that was "adorable" to some noble standard, but to her servants it is a demeaning action accusing, "Am I a fool" or "Do I look dumb to you?". Though she knew he couldn't see it as he bowed to her and refused to straighten his spine.

She hopped off the ledge and approached the servant. He was blond and blue eyed, and was slightly on the tanner side. American if she would have guessed. She signaled him to stop bowing. Once he did as he was told she spoke.

"What is your purpose?"

"I am a butler of yours mistress-"

"What is your purpose."

He stayed silent before speaking again. He explained that he was a chemist and was checking on one of the experiments down in the lab provided. She nodded her head in acknowledgement before accompanying him to the servants' quarters. He knew that she was questioning his credibility. She is his mistress and was the one who provided him the lab, although indirectly. She had every right to see his progress and was determined to not fail his mistress's expectations. He already failed the nonverbal communication part if the scene on the balcony was any indication. If he made one more wrong move he might lose his job in the Laughleft manor.

Quite honestly Lilith could care less about the servant in front of her. Currently she needed a distraction. Her thoughts were expanding on topics too taboo for her right now, if she indulged on those topics she might get another restless night. In addition, while chemistry was a subject she particularly disliked, watching compounds and liquids react to other substances were always amusing. The result is what mattered and she was half expecting a show. But with her knowledge she should be prepared for some basic tricks.

They finally reached the lab, somewhere during the walk there the servant offered to carry Lilith the rest of the way. She agreed only because she was still bare footed. A familiar white covered room filled with multiple doors greeted the pair. She let her mind wander; it has been a while since she entered this room. If she recalled correctly, her last visit to the labs was 2 months before the murder of her fiancé. Life was much simpler then, if only because she was a mere child and not an adult.

They entered through the door that contained the lab. The butler was completely oblivious to the other doors around him. He was never introduced or invited into the other doors so his knowledge about them were close to nothing. However, he hypothesized, and if it was anything like the labs, he was glad that he had no knowledge of what is contained within them. The blonde gently placed his mistress on a lab stool. He was embarrassed that the lady of the house had to sit on a metal stool with no cushion or grandeur whatsoever. He didn't mind that the lab was in complete disarray; the way it was organized called for random stacks here and there. It was organized, not clean, and if there was one rule that was a staple for the Laughleft manor was "Organization over sanitation". But if one was a true butler of the Laughleft manor, he could do both. Unfortunately, he was still green behind the ears.

The mistress looked around the lab. It was definitely not in the state she left it in. She left it in such a way that it looked brand new, untouched, and clean. It was the complete opposite now. The sight was not unfamiliar to her though, and she tended to find this manner of chaos comforting. At least the lab didn't collect dust. Her legs swayed back and forth as she watched the butler flit around the room in pure effectiveness. Not a step wasted, not a movement too much. The preciseness and clarity of a trained Laughleft butler shone through his actions. If the scene on the balcony didn't happen she would have believed he was a seasoned worker, but obviously when greeted by a higher up he was flustered.

He cleaned as he set up. He was going to show his mistress a show while also perfecting the chemical compound he originally came here down for. He juggled multiple vials, tubes, and containers, setting them up in the most efficient manner. Finally, after all the prep work was done he started his work.

Lilith watched the blonde butler pour, measure, and heat chemicals. The sterile air was contaminated with an unidentified scent. The scent reminded her of a green apple and a rose; it was both sweet and sour. Not long after did that scent turn into gasoline as he heated the liquid with a burner. The liquid he heated up slowly changed colors; it went from a pale pink color to black.

As the butler heated up the liquid he made haste to check the fermented chemical on a different table. He slowly cut a bit of the mold that was encasing the vial it was contained in and placed it on a piece of glass. He had just enough time to prep the mold for the microscope before resealing everything and placing it back to a cool temperature area. All his efforts would have gone to waste if it was to reheat to room temperature. He came back to the burning liquid and turned the fire off. The solution was now pure black with a gooey like consistency. He let that rest as he filled a fish tank with water. No matter how long he served the marchioness he is astounded by all her high-tech possessions. The lights were dimmed from his previous scurry before he grabbed the liquid and poured it in. He grabbed a stool then sat beside his mistress.

She was mildly disappointed not to see a fire show. She prefers pyrotechnics over water tricks, but this will do. She watched as she saw the black goop float in the water before it started to "shed". This caught her attention as she tilted her head in fascination. The black slowly drifted to the top instead of sinking to the bottom and neon pink replaced the previous colored goop. The result was something similar to a lava lamp, but it was particular as it wasn't the force of gravity dictating the movement. It moved like a snake, slithering around in the open tank like it was alive.

"The black particles that shed off attract the goo, but since there are water particles between them the reaction is slow and almost nonexistent. It acts similar to gravity, but in the opposite direction."

She hummed, it was an interesting sight to see. She waved him off and he left her side to originally do what he came here down for. He started retrieving all the materials he put away because of the notice in temperature. She sat in front of the fish tank, watching the pink goop swim. She doesn't recall anything like this in any previous experience, but then again, this world operated differently than the one she was used to. In addition, most servants had very little education so she wouldn't be surprised if what he said to her was just theory.

Silence ensued for a while before she filled it up by asking questions. She was mediocre at chemistry, but the demonstration she saw, she was curious. While she knew the butler was lacking in education, at the very least he had the basics down or he wouldn't have been introduced to the labs in the first place. The rest of the time they spent together was filled with mistress Laughleft testing his knowledge and entertaining some of his theories. Time apparently passed as the door to the labs was opened by a third party. It caught both occupant's attention as they looked to see who would enter the labs.

Standing with a clean suit and a strong posture was the head butler. The appearance was one of an aged man, but not quite like a grandfartherly appearance. At least, not yet. The blonde butler she was talking animatedly with bowed before the older man. The marchioness took it as a sign to leave, her stay was over welcomed. She went up to greet the man.

"Good day."

"Good day milady. It is 700. You have a busy day today." He properly bowed when he found his mistress occupying her old labs. The only surprise he felt was when he witnessed his mistress engrossed in a conversation with the new butler. He silently hoped he wasn't going to be replaced.

There was no need for his fear in the end. Marchioness Laughleft nodded to the senior butler before waving goodbye to the mini scientist.

"Have a wonderful day milady!" the blonde exclaimed. Never in his lifetime would he have found enjoyment in a woman's company, especially a lady noble who seem well educated instead of a silent porcelain doll. He didn't doubt his mistress's knowledge, but he did question her person. In hindsight, nobles tend to be very possessive with their assets and Mistress Laughleft gave him a room well beyond his imagination with equipment that would make scientists beg her to be their patron. He maybe cocky to think he made a friend out of his mistress, but if one things for certain. He knew he would risk a good arm for her at least. Loyalty was a fickle trait to give to a sole person, but then again, this entire household seemed to be strictly loyal to her. It seems their trust wasn't unjustified. Not yet proven, but justified.

She made her way to her personal chambers with the head butler trailing after her. It was still early morning and the mansion was barely awake. She saw a few maids and butlers scurry about, but not the usual bustle and efficiently she was so used to seeing. They all seem to go about their day like time was not there. It was somehow refreshing to see people move in a lethargic pace. She started to recognize some faces she passed as they bowed down to her. Names were trying to appear in the forefront of her mind, but it seemed to disappear from whatever travel they endured in her mind.

"Clyde, Mistress."

She looked at the old butler and she meant, really looked at him. Clyde Wilhelm, he was a seasoned soldier in the Queens army. After his service, he took position as one of the guards in the palace, unfortunately a few weeks into his new position he was wounded on a night out with some other guards. He overheard some rumors of someone taking a hit at the palace. He took those rumors by heart and rushed back to the palace. The rumors proved to be right. He single-handedly stopped a robbery and an assassination attempt on the King when he was still alive. However, he was critically wounded. Some years passed, the Queen sold him off to Marquis Laughleft. His first day on the job was only 3 months before she arrived in the Laughleft manor at her age of 10.

She called him Clyde because it was inhumane to call someone slave and disrespectful to keep calling them with "You!" every time she wanted to get his attention. Events happened, relationships were formed, and she eventually made Clyde her personal butler. She made similar relationships with other servants: the cooks, the maids, the stablemaster, her teachers. Then the Marquis died. Nothing happened after that. She can't remember what happened to Clyde or the others, but eventually he became the head butler. Faces she once knew turned blurry, names she tried so hard to get were forgotten. And now? It was all coming back to her.

How disassociated was she?

"Clyde."

Clyde Wilhelm was frightened. For a long time his mistress became so work orientated when the marquis died. He observed the doll she created of herself and become some sort of motivated shell. She moved, she lived, but not without purpose. Nothing was for enjoyment anymore. He never really noticed until he witnessed some semblance of her old self when taking to Bartholomew. The new orphaned butler she picked up from the streets. They engaged in some conversation. A conversation; a dialogue with more than key verbs and implications.

He saw his mistress as perfection the moment he was assigned to her. That perfection was what made him blind to his mistress. While she is perfect in beauty, she was still human. A human woman. A human woman who had brains that exceed any males and is viewed as unappealing in many instances. A born in noble who held title, a job, and viewed as an object. She should be broken, be in denial, be angry or upset. But she wasn't and as long as that porcelain façade remains in place, she never will be. He doesn't want to destroy the mask, not even chip it! He wants to enforce it with his own might, but allow his mistress to take it off when she need some air. Her mansion should be a sanctuary. Fortunately, he has the right amount of resources and skill to pull it off.

However, he needs to test the waters of she is willing to take off the mask in front of them again. Giving his name may or may not trigger feelings she wished to suppress, but he was selfish enough to want his mistress to remember him. The times she ran up to him with a new idea, the times when she asked him to tour the city, and the times he just watched over her when she played in the garden. They shared memories that made him forget the separation of his wife and child and memories that made him forget the harsh words of being an incompetent guard. He was basically abandoned before entering the Laughleft household.

"The butler you were talking to was named Bartholomew. You nicknamed him Bart."

He felt like he just crossed some forbidden boundary for speaking more than a few syllables. He briefly reminded her of her decision of keeping him months ago. He would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous.

"Is that so."

And she was back to her polite façade. That small pocket of hope for the mistress he was waiting on at the beginning of his job vanished. They walked silently back to her bedroom. A small stigma appeared between them. Clyde regretted his decision of bringing up the new butler's name as a conversation starter. It seemed that the efforts of being efficient for the Mistress backfired when actual social skills had to be applied. It was easy for newbies to start conversation because they are not used to the silent efficiency in the Laughleft manor yet.

They reached her personal chambers soon after. Mistress Laughleft stopped a few inches from the door. He was about to cross her to open her door before she spoke.

"Clear my schedule 2 hours before and after lunch. I am doing a personal, routine, staff member check. Do not tell the staff I will be directing it."

She closed the distance between her and the door and opened it with ease. Clyde was stoically accepting the words coming out of his mistress's mouth. Although he was completely thrown off guard. She was about to close the door to her room, but spoke once more.

"Thank you, Clyde. You've always been a great help for me."

Her words seemed a bit unsure, if only because she already spoke so much in one day, and it was only morning. She closed the door and presumably went to do her own stretches and morning routines before the maids arrived. It was going to be an amusing day, if only for the staff because of their mistress attempt of actual conversation and reintroduction.

Maybe after the staff makes a fool out of themselves he will teach social skills to all staff members. If only to save pride of his mess up of his own social skills.

* * *

A/N: So if the beginning seemed scattered. It's suppose to be. This is somewhat the inner workings of Lady Laughleft's mind. Her mind doesn't have a linear path, but a scattered one which at times makes no congruent sense. Hopefully as the fanfic progresses you can get a sense of her mind and understand the character in a way that is unique to your perspective. I try to make the character seem fluid in personality so people can relate or hypothesize to a certain degree on how she came to where she is now. Plus, I like to remind all those reading this to create theories or opinions of Lady Laughleft and how she would react to certain situations or characters, or her backstory.

Also forgive me for the numbers. I try to keep track on the "previous" time line, where Lady Laughleft wasn't a noble yet and when the Marquis gained interest, but numbers are not my strong suit and since events tend to overlap of what happened and when. All numbers are tentative estimates.


	10. Chapter 10: Miscalculations

Lilith Laughleft sat inside a very spacious room. She wore a traditional midnight blue morning dress with white trimmings. It was not overly grandeur, but it acceptable none the less. Her most constant butler, Clyde, stood dutifully beside her. In front of her was a small array of pastries, a cup of tea, and Queen Victoria. Along with the queen was her personal butler, Charles. Or was it Ash? She was never sure when she read the book, neither was she sure when she watched the show. Was is insignificant? Not particularly. However, it really made no difference in the grand scheme of the plot. Knowing ones' name is merely a helpful hint, but if one already knew the what the hint entails, the hint itself was obsolete.

"Isn't it a wonderful day Lilith Laughleft?"

"Of course, my queen, even the weather bends to your will if you so proclaim."

"You amuse me, I'm not almighty, dear."

"But you may as well be. All noble dignitaries would not dream to crossing your holiness."

They smiled and continue with idle chatter. She was summoned to the queen's palace unexpectedly. There was no official reason she was here; according to the queen, she merely desired the company of another woman. People may not know, but Lady Laughleft was a sceptic. The undertaker knew that she hunted for double meanings and hidden agendas. It was second nature to her now. It proved fruitful against the noble dignitaries she mentioned previously. It served her well as long it was someone on the mortal plane with such a shortened lifespan.

She had been here for over an hour already. While it was a very short time if compared to the meetings they had, Lilith was very much out of her comfort zone. She may not show it, but she generally loathed socializing. She was paranoid. The more she spoke, the more dirt would be uncovered on her. She absolutely despised unplanned conversations. For example, today's visit to the queen. Obviously, she couldn't refuse her majesty, however, it made her unsettled with this development. Every interaction she encountered had a purpose and goal she wanted to execute within a specific time frame. The encounter with Aleistor, Madame Red, Sir Damien, and, to a certain extent, the visit of Earl Phantomhive, were all planned, and were received positively with an outcome to her liking. According to her plan, the queen should've been keeping distance with her. Queen Victoria should be poking and prodding her with the hand of the Phantomhive. To be so direct wasn't her usual style.

She was not unprepared for this outcome. She entertained the idea that the Queen would react like so, but it was an unlikely move that reaped no benefits with this type of transaction. So, for Lilith, she may be quite disturbed with this outcome, but she was prepared for such. At least minimally so.

The queen stared at Marchioness Laughleft for as she nibbled on the pastry set before her. Even when she eats, she looks composed. It was like Victoria was staring at a painting. She finally got the woman before her to eat without the fan, somewhat hoping that she had an ugly pair of molars behind her lips. No such thing. It was petty for her to think so. She was grasping at straws to find a fault within this woman. No one was perfect, but why was she bestowed with the ability to seem as such? Originally, she left Marchioness Laughleft to the hands or her guard dog. Unfortunately, there were more pressing matters she assigned the poor boy to do then to waste his time to investigate of the girl before her. She refused to let the strange girl be the cause of any mishaps that happen to her country. No matter how perfect she displays herself to be, she was not a threat. Just an anomaly. Queen Victoria continued to eye her. Her posture was straight, her tone was highly feminine, but the volume was low, her physical features were superb, and her actions were perfectly executed as if demonstrating the book of women etiquette.

Queen Victoria was no stranger for nobles to act perfect in front of her. Anyone who graced themselves before her were to be on their best dress, ability, and charm. However, it was strangely unsettling that even outside of her presence did she keep up with this perfection. She knew her subjects were not perfect, and it would appear in rumors and proven by either Scotland Yard or her guard dog.

Previously when rumors would surround the Laughleft name it was always the Marquis. However, when he died, there was a shift in England that she didn't notice. Suddenly when the fiancée of the late Marquis, Lilith, requested she continue his company, she thought she found her quirk: Pride. She granted her wish expecting failure, and if it did not fail, then a huge return for the good of England. She was pleasantly surprise it was the latter. Then following the success of the Laughleft name rumors were spread about the Marchioness. It was harmless at first, none of them had a speck of truth to them. She invited Lady Laughleft to her palace for more socializing visits and to protect her from the rumors floating about. After all she was still a child back then. However, when the rumors started having a realistic possibility she noticed that all those accusations couldn't be true. Why? The marchioness was visiting her at those specific times; the ones that correspond to accusations such as the fall out of a company or the assassination of another noble. It was peculiar, but she had an alibi. One that involved herself, the queen of England.

Eventually she decreased the invitational visits to almost zero; not counting out the official economic meetings they held. It didn't prove correlation though. When she slowly decreased the visits, there was almost no utter of the Laughleft name in any negative manner. Crime continued, the fall of companies still grew and the assassination attempts still varied, but they were no longer tied to the Laughleft name. At first, she thought it was a mere coincidence. A coincidence she brushed off until the fall of the Phantomhives.

She knew the woman before her wasn't the cause of such tragedy. For one, it wouldn't be her style if she were the one who caused it. It was too flashy for someone so discreet. Second, when announcing the tragedy, she was depressed. It was with the similar sadness when she lost her fiancée. At least that what it seemed like at the funeral. Victoria was sad she lost such a valuable piece, but she had to move on. Nobles of all status tried to squabble for the position of her Guard dog. Either to rise in ranks exponentially, or to gain her favor. She would've gave the position to the Midfords, but they already held many responsibilities and duties. She wouldn't want to overwork a single family.

Then she thought of Lilith Laughleft. Her business was flourishing and it seemed she was idle at that moment. She gave duties similar as if she was the guard dog of England without giving the official title. In official records, the job of the Queen's Guard dog was unfulfilled, but someone was working as her dog under streets of England. When the child of Vincent Phantomhive showed up, she gave the title back to the only heir.

What scared her was that she gave someone a position so close to her to someone who did not request the job. Victoria surmised that she was tired of all her nobles fighting over a bone she gave it to someone who would not mind the duties, but would also not fight for the title if rescinded. When she realized this, she grew queasier around the marchioness. It felt too staged. It seemed like a logical choice to give the position to someone as high as the earl or queen, but the fact that it was given to someone with no ties to the underworld. Although her position as the guard dog was fairly brief, the fact remains that Victoria gave the position to someone underqualified for the job. She knew many nobles already body deep into the underground, but she chose the widowed Laughleft.

She sipped on her tea. They continued idle chatter.

"… Yes, my queen. There have been many visits to proclaim this widows hand."

"Youth. The prime of our lives. I remember the times I was constantly courted by men."

"Surely, you picked the best man the ever lived."

"I did. Edward was so charming and brave."

They continued talking about romantic endeavors' and the widow's loveless life. Another particular subject which both women talked with vigor. One obviously trying to set the other up while the other kept denying such invitations. While the action of trying to find another love is generally a positive notion, Queen Victoria was quite tired of having drooling skirt chasers as half of her noble pawns. Lilith didn't mind being a widow who was chased relentlessly, however, being objectified to be a trophy wife, and subjected to unwanted advances from those nobles take as much effort to dissuade them as to manipulate them. It was particularly difficult on Queen Victoria for the sole reason that an ill-suited husband for the marchioness can possibly cause an economic crash due to shift in power.

"Well at least this week you'll gain a visit by someone other than a suitor."

"Pardon me?"

"Francis Midford? She recently stopped by here for idle chat. She was most excited to visit a woman similar in rank."

"Ah, the Midford family. Marquis/Marchioness rank. The same as I."

"It is Marquess/Marchioness, for the Midfords. Their family has stayed in England since the hierarchy started."

"My mistake, I will not forget."

They sipped at munched on their pastries for a while before the queen dismissed her.

"While it is not late, I am a very busy woman. Please excuse me Lilith." The queen's butler stepped forward the same time the Laughleft butler assisted his mistress out of the chair. Charles, or whoever this white-haired servant was, lead Clyde and Lilith out of the palace. Her carriage was already prepared to leave. She sat inside with the aid of Clyde, before he joined the coachman upfront. Once they vacated the noble courts and more into the street market area, Lilith spoke with an airy hum.

"The queen spoke of a meeting with another Marchioness."

"Yes, Mistress."

"What did I say about letters coming from higher ranks."

"To give them to you directly."

Silence reigned as the servants on the carriage were undoubtedly tense. Although in hierarchies someone of the same rank as another does not mean they are higher rank. Ideally, they are given the same duties, responsibilities, and respect as any other of the same rank. Unfortunately, the world is not an idealistic place. The queen has favorites, personally so. For Lilith, she was taken off that list long ago and her rank is rare enough in the England echelon. She would understand that the servants would not see another noble with the same rank as her important or considered a higher rank than she as they both were bestowed the same title. But like the rest of England, her staff doesn't understand the difference between charitable and nice.

"When we reach the estate, I expect that letter to be found. **Immediately**."

"Of course. My lady."

* * *

It was rare for the Laughleft manor to be in complete chaos. Yet, chaos could be subjective in a sense. The go to image of chaos is frantic, wild, unorganized, and caught completely off guard. In the Laughleft manor, however, it was more of a brisk walking, obsessive cleaning, and a fidgety mistress. Today was a special day. A day where she could not mess up.

Marchioness Midford was entering her home.

She wouldn't be so nervous if it was her daughter, Elizabeth, or even her husband, Alexis. She could have easily entertained Elizabeth with the latest fashion trends or some interesting etiquette lessons and could have played a very delicate noble game with Marquess Midford. If she did mess up with the Marquess, she could have applied some subtle womanly charms on him on a level that was suggestive, but not provocative. Unfortunately, that was not the case. She was dealing with a strict, beautiful, and (quite actually) intimidating woman. The years have done her a great service to her age as she grew each year with more grace than the last. If not for a certain number of factors, Lady Midford would have been entitled with the nickname of the perfect Victorian woman.

Alas, that was not the reason Lilith was frightened beyond belief. Marchioness Midford was sister of the late Earl Phantomhive and aunt of the current Earl. Her sharp features aren't just a product of genes, but of the uncanny sharp intellect and accurate observation skills. The Phantomhive name became a name everyone should fear. Although she took the name Midford and the rank marchioness by marriage, she deserved it. Lilith's history of how she inherited the title is less graceful and practically tarnished the rank. She knew she couldn't woo or impress a former Phantomhive. Just look at her current relations with the Earl. Ciel was only a child. A mature child, but a child nonetheless. She can handle children, men, and gossiping wives; but she knew otherworldly beings and intellectual women were her weakness.

Madame Red was a gamble for her. At one spectrum, she was a "gossiping wife" or widow, yet she was also an intellectual woman. She was lucky to meet her when she did as she was able to see the innerworkings of Madame Red's mind. Children were her weakness, and she milked it as much as she could. Now, Lilith rarely sees Madame Red anymore. She knew that Madame Red was skeptical of her. She had every right to be. Lilith was not a pure person; she was a woman with an agenda. Currently, due to a miscalculation on her part, Lilith's latest clean up wasn't so discreet. Fortunately, there was no lead to be traced back to her, she made sure, but it was barely a day before the event was mentioned in the latest gossip news within noble courts. Either people were getting bolder with her take down, or she was being followed. Both options are equally as terrifying.

Now she must deal with Francis Midford. Not by choice. After the impromptu invitation to the queen's palace for some "small chat", the queen revealed a bit of news of Marchioness Midford was going to visit her. After such a revelation, she ordered her maids to search for the letter sent by the other Marchioness. Finally, there was an elegantly designed letter addressed to her as the maids sorted through the various documents sent by mail. It was not an invitation to a party, neither was it a work document from one of the company's partners. She regrets opening it, but she knew very well she must.

She read the fine calligraphy written in the letter. She even re-read it twice to truly understand the situation and see if she was over thinking the premise of the letter. However, the main issue was clear and there was only one conclusion.

Francis Midford was coming.

That was two days prior which announced Francis Midford's scheduled arrival to Lilith Laughleft's manor. The intrusive self-invite was sent nearly a week prior. Previously, after the visit from the palace and her normal work duties, when her maids were searching for the proof of the letter, she tried to recollect any information of this person to see if she was of value. It wasn't until they found the invite did she remember who this person was.

In her own study, she almost had a heart attack. It was very concerning, mainly for the fact that Lilith fainted in her chair almost right after she read the letter. The staff were quite concerned over her health for the rest of that day. Immediately the day after she started barking off orders like the queen was coming. Everything had to be perfect. Her concerns also lie that both women are of the same rank and both are vital to the prosperity of England. However, she knows Marchioness Midford outranked her with utmost certainty. She had a background that surpassed hers by decades. A familial history that ran deep within both houses of Phantomhive and Midford.

It would be foolish of her not to take her familial history into account. She had already made a blunder, she was not one to repeat mistakes. Quite actually, she had been pondering her next action on what to do next as she was pacing around her manor. Not only did Lady Midford possess the same rank, she had a higher prestige, and was possibly a queen favorite. However, Lilith was more concerned over her role in "plot". She knew that she was mentioned, and was given some "screen time" per say, but she was basically unknown to her. This singular person not only can threaten her current livelihood in England, but can screw up her sense of plot or information of the series.

It didn't help she couldn't remember what her role was in this time era. Lilith had been so focused on the inner gossiping wenches of noble society that she completely ignores all nobles not of use to her (besides the company partners and other "key" players). She briefly remembered that the title of Marquess or Marquis was so rarely given in the Victorian era she presumed her late husband was of the only variety. A fool's mistake on her part.

She was part of the unsinkable ship arc. There was a time she visited Ciel after the fire incident. Other than those two she couldn't remember if she was included in any other plot relevant event. Lizzy however had multiple roles in several events she could list off the top of her head. Unfortunately, Lizzy gave off no information regarding what her rank was or what her parents did for a living. The fact the damn book focused on the rare, but bountiful child nobles screwed up her sense on main characters. Lilith might've presumed that her parents were easygoing or nonessential considering how many times Elizabeth was free to roam.

Marchioness Laughleft changed directions and head to her husband's study located in the middle of the manor. When she entered, she saw it cleaned to perfection. While her study was albeit smaller and more like a socialite's room with the big balcony and the fun window, her husbands was more professional and business like. It had a long coffee table in the center of the room as a mock long table in a business room. The chairs and couches only surrounded the left and right sides of the table leaving the back and front open. Her husband's desk was at the head of the table. Far enough to create space, but close enough to hear and lead a meeting from his station. There was a small shelf of books that would be considered pitiful for a man of his status, but because most of the space in his study was used for filing, it was forgivable. His office was also decorated with a few heirlooms up on display, a few animalistic trophies, and family pictures. One picture caught her attention. It was a picture of both her and Marquis Laughleft. She was 13 years old and he was 20. It was a 7-year difference. At age 8 she caught the eye of the beloved Marquis; 2 years after, he asked for her to live with him. The picture taken was the day she was officially debuted in the noble courts. It was late, but considering she already landed a husband, this was a mere power play.

A knock resounded and she replied in her usual manner. She turned her head to see who was the person who presumed to find her in Marquis Laughleft's study. A maid with blonde hair, looked to be a bit younger than herself, appeared. She possessed baby face, but was beautiful nonetheless.

"Collette, correct?" Lilith questioned.

She tried to remember the names of her servants, if only to regain normalcy considering it will be disrupted within a few short months or weeks.

"Yes, Lady Laughleft. I am here to inform you to change dresses."

Her posture was still bowed, never looking up until spoken or gestured otherwise. Her voice was surprisingly hoarse for someone who looked so young. However, considering that the entire mansion became quiet after the death of her fiancée it was no surprised. She didn't eliminate all conversation, that much she knew for sure. The duties of applying only efficient methods must've carried over to their private lives. She never gave any order to eliminate all forms of verbal communication. They should also be able to visit their family in the mock town of her estate and unless the entire family is mute or works under the Laughleft mansion as servants then all employees should have basic if not average social etiquette.

"Yes, of course. Thank you for your efforts."

The maid was dismissed at the implied request and waited outside the study. Lady Laughleft continued to stare at the picture. She was young, and he was old. They lived in a time where the common cold still killed billions. She was lucky, and she knew it, but as she stared longer at the picture she saw someone who never changed, who never will. She couldn't help, but be proud of herself and her decisions. She stared at the picture for a while longer before following her maid back to her chambers.

* * *

A/N: Hello here is an update! As you know school is almost back in session! Its boo for me, but should be a yay for you. I have a college like schedule so I have long breaks in between classes which I use to actually write more of the story. I will still warn I will have irregular update schedules.

Okay now story related news. I lost my beta. Unfortunate, but it wont stop me now. Also, Numbers appeared again! Just asking, if you guys get confused reading a particular chapter or gets confused on what is happening to the story, I would not mind to explain what happened so far without spoiling the plotline. I'll put it before the chapter starts. However I will only do it if someone request it. Right now I thank all those who have reviewed, followed, and favorite. That's always a nice notification to receive.

To BrickSheep, I will look over all previous chapters and try to fix the dialogue so it flows better, or at least have some sort of justification of why it seems awkward and put it in the Authors note.

To Lazy to Login thank you for pointing that some transitions are not as good as others. I will start looking out for those in future chapters.

To GlassyEye, ramble all you want! I much appreciate crowd feedback whether it is constructive criticism, what they think of Lilith, or how they think the story progress. I makes me more mindful of how my audience are thinking when they read the story. As an author, I assume my audience know the things I do, which sometimes makes the story seem dull to me or confusing to the readers. Your comment was very much valued.


	11. Chapter 11: Reminiscent

Both women sat on the balcony of her study. Her study was slightly modified to be more feminine and less business professional. Lady Laughleft was wearing an off-shoulder gown with gloves. She wore only two colors: black and gold. The gold was not flashy bright or blaringly loud. It was a muted version of the expensive color. In addition, it was shown sparingly as little intricate designs that only outlined the dress. She wore a similarly patterned hat in her hair. She was very much subtle unlike her other appearances when visiting the galas and events. Lady Midford was wearing a traditional Victorian dress with crinoline. She had a box like neckline and had a vibrant dark blue (almost black) long coat. Her dress was the deepest shade of red it reminded her of blood.

Her dress had to be a power play. Blue was reminded of the Phantomhive heritage she possessed while red had to symbolize the Midford's status of being the queen's first and last line of defense. Both women had piercing green eyes. Laughleft had vibrant emeralds and Midford had striking olives. Currently, they divulged in a tea session after Lady Laughleft gave Lady Midford a tour of the mock town. Afterwards they went up to her study and rested, chatting like any other noblewomen.

"I must digress our current conversation. Although the color scheme is correct for a widow the dress itself is too revealing."

Well, only resting by physical means. Unfortunately, the chat itself was a battle in its own right.

"I wear this dress consistently ever since the departure of my fiancée. This was the first dress he gave me on my coming out ball."

"A lady who is stuck only to the past is a nuisance to the queen."

"The past is to be celebrated as it was then which helped become the now."

"While your point is valid, change is imminent. The future would come regardless of the feelings one would possess."

"But it is with those feelings that one strives to make the future possible. Possibly furthering our knowledge and wealth to more than the upper class."

"If that was so, the hierarchy would fall, thus endangering the queen and many lives in the process. Surely you jest; reforming the entire system of England in a single generation is more of a foolish rule of anarchism."

"It is one of the many options I must be able to see, it would be more foolish to turn a blind eye to a choice quite possible."

"In future endeavors. One, I certainly guarantee, that will not happen in any of our lifetimes."

Lilith conceded to the topic and chose not to answer. Both women stopped their conversation to take a sip of tea before they continued chatting (debating) about the previous topic before Marchioness Midford changed the subject to her dress. They have been talking for a while now, but it was clearly far from a nice chat. It could be compared to a fight between two deadly animals. Which, quite honestly, was not far from the truth.

Lilith knew she was being tested. The entire time they were together it was accusation, question, then observation. Keeping up a farce this complicated grated on her nerves and made her feel completely exhausted. Slipping was bound to happen. She was tired, stressed, and acting as her life depended on it. She knew she couldn't weave a web of lies for her to fall in. She had to speak half-truths to barely convince Lady Midford of her words. Even then, her beliefs and true thoughts resurface like a demon from hell.

Lilith tried to stress that Marquis Laughleft was her husband previous hours ago, but since he died before the noble marriage ceremony, she had to address Marquis Laughleft as her fiancée. The queen might've acknowledge her as the wife of the late Lord Laughleft, but not every noble held the same sentiment. She is not a widow if she never married in the noble courts, engagement be damned or the "unofficial" commoner wedding never counted. However, that was a story for another day.

Francis Midford blatantly stared at her green-eyed counterpart. She deemed Lilith's chosen attire an extravagant assemble, but the way it was fitted on the 18 years young woman made her seem so innocent. It was disturbing. Francis knew when Lilith gets older, she will retain her youth like herself. The fact a black dress with gold detailing could look innocent on a very sought out lady was wrong. Black was commonly a color which represented death, a forestatement of unfortunate events to come. All the while, gold is a noble's color of happy, just expensive. It is still a joyous color with symbolism of wealth, prosperity, and cheer. However, the colors of death and happiness seem to sing a melancholy tune represented by the specific dress the other marchioness wore. She had the contradicting, if not sinister, meaning down to a pat. Francis had to hand it down to Lilith for adding an element of innocence to such a dress, if only because for the nobles that attended her ball couldn't wear those colors and she was of young age. Not to mention, marchioness Laughleft never wore that particular color scheme thereafter.

Francis could hypothesize it was most probably due to her being young and staying inside the manor for so long. She rarely left the Laughleft manor when Marquis Laughleft was alive. She wasn't outside galivanting the streets of London, she wasn't the publics main interest then. Then sometime after her fiancée died, the color she wore was black, due to tradition and respect for the deceased. The public started to look at her, and she was in attention of not only the upper class, but of the middle too. With her pale skin and dark attire, she looked ethereal. A hauntingly beautiful shell. One that loomed and decided to grace the Laughleft manor with the motive to make it seem unattainable or otherworldly. Yes, she caught the attention of anyone and everyone, a move so simple, yet powerful and it worked to her advantage.

Francis Midford took another sip of her tea and observed the woman.

She will admit, with no shame, Lilith Laughleft was a conundrum. A conundrum which bled into her personality. Personality is what nobles of all genders go for when deciphering a person. Personality can tell a person their past, their future, and their destruction. Lilith was a blank piece of paper; a paper seemingly not touched, tainted, or manipulated in any way. A rare sight and a beautiful one at that. However, that only works if people don't know her past. If people bother to look past the artificial standards of beauty, they would see colors; colors not meant for nobility, not meant for her. Lilith Laughleft was a blank piece of paper, but it was far from white or tarnished.

"Excuse me, Lady Laughleft, Madame Midford."

Both women turned to acknowledge the servant before them. It was the Laughleft's manor head butler, Clyde. Madame Midford saw Clyde as man as old as Tanaka, an old and loyal butler in Ciel's manor. Clyde did look a bit younger in comparison to Tanaka. It is possible that she would honestly be fooled since there is only a fine line that distinguish blonde and white as one gets older. She will admit, she favors this servant of the Laughleft household. The servant continued to speak.

"The play will start relatively soon. Shall I make arrangements now or cancel the viewing until a later date?"

It was eerily creepy to Clyde as he saw his mistress and Marchioness Midford move in synchronization by performing the proper etiquette to eating a pastry. If not for hair color and initial status, no doubt the women before him could have been mistaken for siblings with similarities of being the queen's favorite and the number of suitors both had in their lifetime.

Clyde was just a simple servant, but he was a servant that used to be in the grand palace of the Queen. He served the queen for years before the accident happen and he was forced to serve a person of lesser status. He grew to love his new job eventually, however, his time at the palace made him naturally cunning, smart, and adroit. He used the skills he gained from the palace and applied them here in the Laughleft manor. It was certainly a welcoming surprise as he loved to keep his mind sharp as his body tough.

However, the tension between the two Marchioness was a clear glass. He was smart enough to know when to interfere, unfortunately not how; not until recently was he able to practice his social skills he long since forgotten. He dutifully decided to interfere, for the sake of his mistress, by asking if they are willing to continue the plans they devised together earlier this day. If only because that was the best way to divert if not spread the tension in a way not solely concentrated between the two. Blunt was not the Laughleft way, at least not dealing with other nobles, but that is what Clyde knew best. They no doubt will continue this very confusing womanly war, but he proposed a temporary truce until the shots were once again fired. It was Mistress Laughleft that spoke first.

"I would hate for those tickets to go to waste."

"As would I."

"Then we will go out as planned, Clyde if you may."

"Yes. Milady, Madame."

He excused himself from the two marchionesses' and made his way inside the manor. He prayed silently that the truce will last until they arrive at the theatre. The noble war between the women frightened the last 2 coachmen, both who imagined some consequence worse than death. Fortunately, so not to lose face, it was both from Madame Midford's party.

"Excuse me, Sir Clyde?"

He turned around and saw the head maid Collette. She was a young blonde, but she knew how to do her job efficiently.

"Yes?"

"It seems the coachman you ordered to escort Madame Midford and Mistress Laughleft to the theatre seems nauseous."

"Why is that?"

"We have no clue sir. He was fine less than 15 minutes ago, but then when he took the servants pathway to the front, he was suddenly sick."

"By chance, which pathway did he use?"

"Pathway 12."

Usually Clyde is a composed and reasonable man, if not a bit of a perfectionist. However, this entire day with two marchionesses made this far from a usual day and far from a usual noble visit. It was slowly grating on his nerves. He didn't mean to complain, but he had multiple screw-ups this pass month than he did his entire service time before serving the Laughleft manor.

First, his social skills were barely subpar and he was usually the grand standard for the entire household. Two, his mistress (unconsciously) blamed him for the missing letter from Madame Midford. Three, right after the founding of the letter, his mistress suddenly turned unwell that he fretted with worry so opaque that he didn't leave his mistress side for that entire day (it reminded him of the first few days when he just entered the manor and oversaw the care of the future Mrs. Laughleft). Four, as soon as the day of the meeting comes, not two hours in when Madame Midford arrived, half of the manor was walking on eggshells around the two, and one fourth proclaimed sick. Veterans, like he and older members, started to take up the same responsibilities when they first came to the manor on top of the duties they normally do since they climbed up the ranks.

This leads up to the fifth problem which was inevitable. The closing of several servant routes.

Clyde didn't know whether to frown or strangle himself. Servant pathway 12, while the most efficient pathway to set up the carriage, passed underneath their mistress's balcony. The pathway lead from the servant quarters to the garden, to the stable, to the carriage vehicles, then pass by the wash station, to the front. However, if a servant was to take pathway 12 at this moment, they would get a healthy dose of what is to come for the next 2-hour trip, to and back.

He has only two possible outcomes: Less efficiency or less help.

"Excuse the man for now. Get coachman Steele and tell him to take Pathway 18."

"Yes, sir Clyde."

She bowed before she was sent to retrieve coachman Steele. Clyde had a wife, a child too, but never in his years of marriage and serving mostly women did he ever understand the necessity of a cat fight between women. He was able to endure those fights all those years ago. It seemed like his wife's cat fights with other women proved to beneficial especially since today was trying his patience to an unhealthy degree. He knew women couldn't fight like men do (i.e. dueling), but women fight using their mind. Both ways of fighting had their advantages and disadvantages. However, psychological fighting was equally as tiresome to be part of it as it was to be in the presence of one; let the heavens forbid a man to be the cause of one. He respected women, he truly did. At least above average than the typical English male. However, it was times like these that made him question why.

"Sir Clyde! Some of the gardeners are having fainting spells." A random staff member shouted while running toward him.

"Are they the gardeners assigned to sector 6, around our mistress balcony?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

Clyde couldn't help but sigh and rub the ever-growing wrinkles around his forehead. It startled the other butler before him.

It wouldn't be impudent of him if he requested a higher pay from his mistress correct?

* * *

 _Years ago._

Queen Victoria was sitting inside her home sipping tea quietly. Everything has been silent when her husband died, at least from her perspective. She was waiting for the new marquis to show face. Lawrence Laughleft. He was a mere boy not yet an adult, but his parents were taken from him far too young. He was now 15 years of age; he had to grow up as an adult with the title of boy. It wasn't unexpected, woefully, but his parents had a child too late for normal standards. The poor couple couldn't conceive for a while, but they were adamant on creating at least a sole heir. They got their wish, but for the price of health. She knew the boy got the short hand of the stick; she was reminded of his parents' ill heath, bountiful duties, and lack of connection with any remaining kin.

Yes, the Laughleft family was full of workaholics and unfortunate luck. The only remarkable aspects of theirs was loyalty, dependability, and work ethic. All other traits, just furthered their growing health concerns.

She didn't even glance up when the door to the room she was in opened. Steps echoed and grew closer until they were within sight. She acknowledged the man's bow before taking his seat. She sipped once more before setting the cup down; she gave all her attention to the new marquis before her.

"My queen."

"Yes, boy. Tell me, how are you faring?"

They sat, they chat, and they discussed. Thankfully, she did not need to go over his duties as a marquis in the noble courts, nor does she need to explain the role his father gave him unceremoniously. He was educated enough on both aspects, but clearly, he was uncomfortable about the whole affair. The reason of his visit wasn't only for Queen Victoria to judge her new marquis, but to also see where the economy of England would go. The Laughleft family, although still somewhat green in the history of the noble court in England, oversaw her economy. It wasn't much, only 15-20% but it was a considerable amount that belonged to one family. It didn't include the potential allies or otherwise that were associated with the family.

"If I may, I would like to discuss potential marriages"

Although she was wished to check on Marquis Laughleft heavily due to the sake of England, she was not the one to request his presence. He requested to see her. A very reasonable move, but one clearly unscripted and unplanned. She glanced at the boy, openly sizing him up.

"I need not remind you of the laws of England."

"It is with my knowledge of your laws that I bring the topic up. Please, my queen, hear what I have to say."

Queen Victoria stopped her incessant drinking. She properly looked at the boy and saw nothing, but a determined look in his eye. It would be so easy to deny him of his request to show power and remind him of his place. However, she is not known as a ruthless ruler to her subjects, she is favored, envied, and loved. To this specific person before her, she can be anyone to him; he was impressionable, she could control all his actions, from what he eats for breakfast to what words to say to her opponents outside her sphere of influence. Victoria can control him like a puppet and all she had to do was let him speak his mind to her. Then everything could and would fall into place.

"Well then, speak your mind. I will lend an ear."

Fortunately for the new marquis, Victoria was not one to control the very habits of her subjects. She did not care for what her dignitaries indulged in outside of their main purpose. She could care less if they are an alcoholic, an abuser, or a rapist, as long as it didn't go public, or threaten her rule in anyway. Those foolish who expose her, threaten her, or inane enough to get caught, well she has a guard dog for a reason; and Vincent was doing a splendid job with his duties.

"I wish to pursue a woman a year prior to legal age."

How interesting. Legal age to pursue for a man is age 21, to the very least the woman he is pursuing, must be of age 13. However, it isn't strange for a man near adulthood to start fantasizing about women before that. Most who do turn of legal age tend to dilly dally before committing. It is not uncommon, especially for men who did not have an arranged marriage. Even then they would not get married immediately after the marriageable age.

"Speak clearly, do not beat around the bush if I had already offered you my time."

Lawrence Laughleft hesitated. Victoria saw clearly. This could mean one of two things: he is nervous or he knows the answer he will speak will not be favorable to her. She could see the gears in the young boy's mind turn violently for an acceptable answer.

"I want to be engaged to a woman at age 20."

"What is your plan?"

"To be married at age 21, as soon as I am legal."

His request was particular. The motive was strange. Unfortunately for him, Victoria was no fool. She saw his carefully (and hesitant) crafted response. This encounter was anything, but subtle, and his body betrayed him. He was hiding something, and it was against her nature not to know. She was cautious, paranoid, and irritated. She will not let anything affect her status and image, not even her marquis.

"I will not repeat my words."

"My parents were late; my fortune is due to my predecessors. They both have suffered health concerns from my existence. They tried for years, but no results. I will not fool myself thinking I do not have such a luck like them. It is prominent in my family line. I am merely bettering my chances."

Her anger dissipated, if only a tad. Yes, his family was an unfortunate one. Primary and extended seem to have trouble procreating. There tend to be issues in the Laughleft lineage which makes them hard to breed. This issue stems even before her reign and into her mothers and possibly farther back. It would be of no importance if said event didn't threaten the balance in the upper echelon because there was no heir to the name. A distribution of powers must be made, but with the fluctuating numbers of people rising and falling out of nobility, it was harder to establish a solid back up plan.

"Pray, tell. Who has caught your eye."

"She is of lower class."

"Of course, most are. "

"She is of working class."

It was one thing to ask of her to grant the possibility of him pursing marriage options a year prior to law, but to marry a woman, or currently a girl who is painstakingly far from his class was unheard of. It was fine if middle or new nobility married someone of lower class, they were within the same levels, so to speak. Noble men typically marry higher to gain more power and wealth. Their main purpose is to make sure the woman they are married to can keep all their selfish whims. Noble women are heavily discouraged to marry a man who cannot provide for her.

She considered Lawrence's status as a Marquis/Marquess. Besides the royal family, he can't climb higher than his position. It was expected of him to marry someone of lower status, maybe two or three levels below himself. However, he wished to pursue a girl? A girl with no social standing? No connections? No benefits?

This girl could impair his judgement. This girl can make a fool of him, and thus make a fool of her. He would have to teach this girl the rules of nobility, make her conform to the will of the upper class. And as far as she was concerned, most working-class women were brash, uncouth, and strong headed. Those type of women don't conform easily, they are the type to start a civil war or a revolution. She did not need that type of woman in the courts. It would embarrass her, embarrass him, and would play unfavorably to her.

"You are aware of what you are asking me, correct?"

She eyed the boy, questioning heavily, and challenging him to stand his ground. She saw him get up from his seat and bow at waist level. He repeated what he said. He assured her that the woman—no girl, was different, that she will bring England to heights that never before seem possible. He started sugar coating his words, making her hear the empty promises in his words, trying desperately hard to convince her and possibly himself. He never did take back his words. Victoria saw a certain type of determination, she once saw in the boy's late father, when he promised her a stable and flourishing economy. She saw a certain finesse which made her fears and irrationality blow away with the wind, like her husband. She had to give it to the boy to give her a glimmer of hope that everything would be okay. That the world he described is easily attainable through hard work.

"I shall give, if only this once."

He stopped his rant. He stood straight before lifting his hand to his heart and clutched his chest.

"Thank you, my queen."

His words seemed so sincere. It was possibly due to his remaining innocence. Innocence that will be crushed in the few years left to come.

"Be sure you don't disappoint. I will rescind my answer if you perform unsatisfactory."

"Yes, my queen."

"You are dismissed."

She turned her head and stared out the window. She could hear the door shut behind him. She stared down from her perch and saw her city. Bustling crowds, running children, and couples everywhere. She saw the sun, something that was becoming more of a rare sight as factories popped up like daisies. They covered the sky with thin layer of gray. She could just watch the day go by for the rest of the day. But she is queen, and she has many other things to deal with. She called a maid and asked her to go get Ash.

She waited for some time. She people watched from the window in the room. Everyone was animated in some shape or form. The world moved forward no matter if a single person was stuck, frozen in time. This kingdom was flourishing, something she wished to show the fruits of her husband's labor.

The door was knocked upon and she let a customary come in.

"You are not Ash."

The door opened and a man with unkempt hair appeared before her. She recognized the shades he wore as it appeared that he never took them off. He was one of the few aides she kept at her side.

"No ma'am, Ash was busy with your other requests, I came to see if I could be of assistance."

She hummed. It was no surprise that Ash would be busy, she tends to overwork her aides. Besides a selected few, the butlers and maids in her palace did nothing, but menial work. Her aides are much more important than mere pawns. She valued them. Well, as much as she can for tools. No matter her thoughts, she had a job to do.

"Find the girl who caught Lawrence's eye."

"As you wish."

The butler bowed, he was immediately going to search for this girl, but then he saw the queen slowly break into silent tears. He knew the queen well, and she was the only person he can ever yield to. It would be a matter of time before she broke into sobs. Carefully he went closer to the queen, he made sure she was aware of his presence by making his footsteps louder than average. He directed Queen Victoria to the seat she was most likely occupying and fixed up another cup of tea.

Queen Victoria couldn't help it, but a stream of tears ran down her face. This happened in the most random of chances. It may be due to her having a soft heart at the prospective of romance, especially for the boy, but whenever she thought about her husband, her heart seems to emphasize the hole in her heart. They say time heals all wounds, but this one seemed not to heal, but to grow. She would, at the worst times, be sentimental of the days when there was two, and not one. She loved her husband she really did.

Victoria eased her breath as a cup of tea was gently placed in her hands. She closed her eyes and took a long intake of the scent of honey. She needed to clear her mind. The day was not over. Once she opened her eyes, she saw a small puppet of her husband in front of her. A small smile cracked her calm and regal exterior. This was one of the many reasons why, he became one of her personal aides.

* * *

A/N: So fans of the series... who did I just cameo right now? This should be an easy answer, but quite honestly I totally forgot about this character and decided to put 'em in last minute.

Anyway I'm not sure if I can call this fic a slow-burn, but it definitely did take a while for it to reach plot. Lilith is probably going to reach plot sometime soon give or take a chapter or two, but I am curious, should I just prolong the daily life of Lilith and the manor? Not sure how I could do it, but it seems somewhat fun to do.

I do want to hit plot though because I feel like 11ish chapter of "building" seems good to me, but I could be wrong. So I ask you, should I develop Lilith and other characters more before hitting plot, or develop Lilith's relationship with other characters before hitting plot? I would still develop her as the story progresses, but as the audience do you like how Lilith is right now to jump into plot?

Just curious to be honest. Anyway OCs are mine, anime/manga isn't. No beta. Grammar, spelling, and structure of sentences are most likely prominent. Will most likely go on a proof read spree when I hit 15 or 20 chapters? Also am doing a combination of both anime and manga so... this time line could also be somewhat skewed.


	12. Chapter 12: My Lady, Content

As soon as the visitation of Marchioness Midford ended, she could not help herself but be visibly relieved. It may or may not be her imagination, but she felt like her staff also held the same sentiments. It was admittedly night, but she wasn't frolicking at the dead of night in some district in England. No, she was merely taking a stroll around her garden. While her mansion was far from the bustling streets of England, it was not in the country side. So, the moon was of no help as of lighting as the sky seem to have a permanent gray cast, but it wasn't overtaken by the accumulation of pollution. No, it was merely decoration to a scenic background, for a lovely mansion and pseudo town.

The garden had tastefully placed oil lamps. They held the same purpose of the torches around the mansion covering the outside. It was a mere aesthetic. The oil lamps were set up every night and take down before the first rays of sunlight. Was it inefficient work? Well, yes, it most certainly was. However, lately she doesn't mind some inefficiency. It gave her staff something somewhat new and they will also be able to enjoy the scene at night.

She waved at a few guards that patrolled the gardens; some bowed, others waved, all acknowledged her. The guards used to only sit at the perimeters of the building. They only rotated twice a night to stretch their legs. Fault can be given to her as she once dictated that wasting energy by patrolling around can cause inefficient use of staff and of resources. They were essentially forced by her word and then by their inability to see what was pass the light the torches on the walls gave them.

She continued her nightly stroll looking at the many flowers in her garden: roses, ranunculus, forget-me-nots, gladiolus, sweet pea, matthiola, carnations, bluebells, etc.

Looking at the flowers reminded her of a time where she had learned floriography. It was one of the first lessons she learned, strangely enough. She assumed that she would immediately be taught how to act, address, and speak like a noble. If anything, she would have been taught how to read or write (not that she needed it), or do some basic arithmetic. She was surprised to start learning the language of flowers. It was strange, but not unwelcome. This was something relatively new to her and it wasn't applicable or practical to know the meaning of flowers previously. It didn't make sense until later why she learned floriography as there were many topics nobles can't say or convey, public or private. This way of messaging became insidious and incredibly uncomfortable once a person gets past the beauty of the flowers.

Still, the meanings of the flowers could speak more than the owner could ever say. What lies in the gardens are more than just the corpses of the flora.

Lilith admired the rose bushes in her garden. They were a basic staple to all gardens and love. She continued to watch the staff of her household calmly stroll under the night sky. Some even brought their significant other to enjoy the scenery. While unauthorized persons were usually a signal of danger and were banned anywhere near her mansion, she was fine with letting people outside her staff enjoy her gardens along with her, at least recently. It also eased her mind that everyone here was signed in, verified, and had two to three witnesses acknowledging and vouching for their said existence. Security eased her state of mind.

"Mistress."

She turned around and saw a blonde aging butler of hers.

"Clyde."

"May I join you for a walk."

"I would love your company."

The two sashayed around the garden, mindlessly following the stone path that wound*. They talked and Lilith took note that his conversation skills improved significantly since the first time. Topics ranged from simple atmosphere, to the rest of the staff in the manor, to her childhood growing up here. It was mentioned that Clyde was her first personal servant. She admitted that she had no recollection of the time they previously spent together. He reassured her that the past brings trauma and it was okay she didn't remember.

Clyde looked at the current head of the Laughleft manor, his mistress. She grew up beautifully over the years (the rest of the country also noticed). Yet, to those who worked in the manor long enough, to the staffs eyes it was more than just physical beauty. Sure, there were those who believed she grew uglier, especially when the during the time when the mistress was cold and uncaring because of the death of Lawrence Laughleft. Even now, when she is resembling fragments of her old self, doubters linger in the staff, initially he was going to have them replaced, but most do their job efficiently and hold no ill will that they could enact on. After all, efficiently remained as a strong characteristic in the Laughleft manor.

They continued to chatter before their conversation was cut short as another blonde servant, much younger than Clyde, stumbled in front of them. Both waited patiently as he caught up to them, he was slightly out of breath and had a gleam in his gray eyes. He was clearly shaking like an excited puppy.

"Milady! Sir Clyde!" He bowed before both higher ups before speaking animatedly.

"I was in the Labs just a few short moments and I discovered the most particular thing! May I join you in conversation?"

Lilith agreed to his company and Clyde also gave permission. He wasn't at all rude, but he was one of the few newbies in the Laughleft manor that felt more at ease with the marchioness. Together they strolled around the gardens with Bartholomew talking enough for the both of them. Bart was a good influence on the mistress as he was the first one to open up the 18 years young woman. It might have helped that they are relatively of the same age with Bart being only a year older, technically 10 months, but still the same.

Clyde observed as his mistress giggled behind a gloved hand when Bart was mentioning about the multiple fires that "spontaneously" happened when inside the lab. He smiled along with the rest on the young accompaniment beside him. Both reminded him of his child he had long ago. Ever since he was deemed as a "handicapped" man his familial life was crumbling around him. He used to be in the army, then became an officer, then was recruited into a guard in the queen's palace. It wasn't until he was an officer in the Scotland yard that things became messy.

He was good at his job, great even, but when you are part of the police force and was a good officer, enemies became a regular requirement. His family was never targeted, thank the heavens for small mercies. However, they became persistent in trying to kill him. One particular event was during the winter season. He doesn't like remembering the event, but it made his lower body in a temporary paraplegic state. Not only was he taken off the active roster, but he was stuck being a paper pusher for a few months. With his state and more than half his duties being shuffled among the other officers, his pay was cut. It didn't help that his pay had to go to medical expenses instead of his family.

His wife was distraught and his son was still an infant. The cold of winter, the expensive bills, and the stress of having a child that could very much die that winter led to plentiful agonizing cries. His relationship with his wife was strained until he was put back in the active roster. Even then, their relationship was strained, there were comments that should've been left unsaid, but words that should have been said.

Eventually he was promoted to a guard in the queen's palace. A job with high honor. His family life improved and his son was at least 4 at the time. He served the queen for 6 years and he never felt as much love as he did then. Suddenly the assassination attempt on the king happened. Once again, he was injured, but this was deemed permanent by the doctors. With the last of his money and his connections he told his wife to visit her family down south in the rural areas of England. He planned out their trek, warned her parents, and gave the remaining money to his wife. He told her he loved her, and she did tell him too. His son, 10 years old, gave him a kiss along with his wife, and left on a carriage.

The day following his family's departure, he abandoned his last name, and continued serving the queen until his termination day. He didn't want to let his family suffer as he declines farther down the social caste. He didn't want them to worry that he, a husband and a father, was abandoning them. They deserved a better life; a life which they won't ration out food, where they would not be living payday to payday.

He sent them away for the better. It was the best decision back then. As expected, his pay dropped, his money barely sustained himself as he was laid off weeks at a time. Then finally he was sold, just like any other servant, at a low price, as a butler. His accomplishments weren't completely ignored (or so he hoped) when he was at least handed down to a noble ranked just below royalty.

A few months gone by, not sure how to feel about serving a teen noble, but soon he was (as he dubbed it) on babysitting duty when he was in charge of a 10-year-old girl, Lilith Laughleft. Her name was already changed to match the manor. There his adventures as a butler to his current mistress began.

Bartholomew was new, but he would've have been the same age as his son. Bart had some of the same features of him, but it is common to find blonde hair in England. Clyde's eyes were bluer, when Bartholomew was grey. Clyde had a more stockier build when Bart was leaner, kind of scrawny (but it may have been due to training his physical body changed). However, since coming to this manor and in light of recent events, he has a family here. Sure, it may only contain his mistress, the blonde newbie, and a few select other staff members, but he was happy. He was just as happy as if he was with his actual family right now.

Clyde kept gazing at his children before him (yes, because to his eyes they were both his children). His smiled never waned when he was in front of them. Because for the first time in a while, he was genuine.

"Mistress, Bartholomew, it is late. I recommend sleep and continue this conversation till morrow."

They stopped chatting (more like Bart stopped ranting) and looked toward the old man.

"It is half past 10 and mistress you still have to ready yourself to bed. Bartholomew, you asked me previously to wake you up the same time I would to check on an experiment in the labs."

They both agreed.

Bart's time in the Laughleft manor was everything, but boring. The first 3 months in his trial run was boring sure, but his short patience was rewarded with a lab! Then a year after he met the mistress, who was intellectual enough to keep up with his conversations. She even corrected him a few times, which show cased his mistress's knowledge; it was more than he could grasp! After the encounter, he couldn't help, but discuss his progress with her. The mistress was not what he expected. He assumed the woman would be cold, strict, and calculating. He held that notion even after their first meeting. However, as time continue to move onward he met more than just a noble, he met a human. For most, England and every other nation had a distinct class divide. The rich, the middle, and the poor. One does not associate much with the other. It was assumed that middle class would be the bridge between, however that was not the case.

The rich believed the middle to be still too poor to socialize with openly. The poor thought the middle to be as just as condescending as the rich. Middle class can still make do with either class, but not both at the same time. The divide was more than just social or economic. Each class had a sort of pride, its own language, its own culture. It was pick one or none for the middle class.

Bart came from streets. He was poor. His family abandoned him at a young age, sold off to some person for labor in the outskirts of England. He honestly can't remember much, but he fled to London. There he lived on the streets for years. Then he got word that some mansion was hiring servants. He applied rapidly. He was interviewed, tested, then given the trial run. He never met the mistress until that night.

He bid Lady Laughleft a goodnight as Clyde and himself drifted to the servant housing district. A relatively large group of staff members surprisingly doesn't live in the manor with the mistress. Most chose to live in the mock town area. He didn't understand why. The mansion was much grander than living in a 'home' that clearly showed social class. In the mock town it showed the divide. The rich, the middle, and the poor. He initially thought it was part of their job. After all, it served the mistress well. Yet, when he asked the staff, they said they chose to leave and live "outside" of the Lady's domain. Some reasons were pride, independence, or to help serve her in more efficient way. Personally, he would not leave the mansion anytime soon. Exercising was not his forte, despite living on the streets.

He appreciated his mistress and would help her anyway possible. It doesn't mean he would die for her, but he was getting pretty close to give up his room in the mansion. He might be able to give up a kidney given some time, if only because Lady Laughleft explained why he would still be able to live with one. He is not blindingly loyal, and hopefully will never be. However, he is willing to sacrifice more of him if given enough or good reasons to do so.

* * *

Lilith sat in her honey scented bath. It was probably near midnight by now and had many duties to perform for tomorrow, or today depending on the actual time. After her stroll around the garden she dismissed her servants to their quarters to rest. If she did not, both would have escorted her to her room.

She pondered about everything: the past, the future, her mistakes, her achievements, some less savory scenes in the mansion, her encounter with multiple players. Her thought rattled her brain jumping from subject to subject. In her previous life she would have to pace to catch most of her thoughts that ran 180 kilometers per second. Now, she daydreamed. With closed eyes, she is able to process what goes on in her mind.

She can't remember specifics of the storyline, quite honestly, she watched the anime once, skimmed through the manga's when she was at a bookstore, read some information on the wikis, listened to rants about the fandom from friends, and scrolled though head cannons of the characters from writing outlets. Two out of five sources were biased and had potential to be false, and out of the remaining 3 sources 2 had different plots. Anime tend to be different from the manga, especially if the anime kept going when the manga was not yet completed. She (only) solidly had evidence about what she remembered about the wiki. Unfortunately, she read the profiles of a few select characters. Most of which didn't have much information, and had a short bio.

She took a deep breath and submerge her entire self into the water. Her hair was suspended in the water, flowing around her in sections. She didn't dare open her eyes. She was submerged, but not hidden. Her eyes were closed, but she can still see. She saw darkness, but she knew what was within it.

She could open her mouth and breath the water around her. She could stop right here. Have another tragedy fall upon the Laughleft name. She could crash the economy, make it go into a recession, but it will repair itself in time. She didn't have to meddle, she could've ran; she could have run so far away, move to the Americas, fake a death, become a number, or even live as a prostitute. She can still do many of these things and leave.

She broke through water and gasped for air.

She wouldn't or much couldn't leave now. She was in too deep, she set up so much, and she refused to leave when she has a winning hand. Lilith was a strategic fighter and this particular fight, she was going to make sure she wins.

Lilith exited the bath and prepped herself for bed. It had been a long time when she had to prepare herself. She was used to the spoils of nobles, it wasn't uncomfortable, but it was reminiscent like and old ache from a wound already healed. She exited the lavatory into her brightly lit chambers. She walked to her bedside table and got out several scented candles. She lit them all and placed them around her room. With this she could turn off the lights. Her room still glowed, but not the obnoxious bright fluorescent lights. It was dim, and it could have been labeled romantic with the scent and the setting. However, Lilith didn't do romantic, at least not anymore, or not now.

She glided to the mirror and combed her hair. Her hair was black. Not black with a bluish tint, or black that was brown. It was a solid black. Staring straight at her reflections was green colored eyes. It was vibrant and it was lively. Emeralds, her fiancée used to compare them to. She loved the combination, she knew if she were someone else, she would envy herself. However, other than those characteristics, she hated everything else. Skin so white, it was sickly, unhealthy, and pale. It was too pale. Yet, it was sought after with vigor. Women would powder themselves to look as white as a sheet, to stay inside for years on end to attain a skin color so grotesque. Why she used to question, now she understood. A man is attracted to white skin because it showed frailty, it showed fragility, it showed, in inappropriate words, fuck-ability.

Lilith shivered as she combed her hair. The thought was vile enough to affect her physical being. She ignored the sensation and combed her hair again.

A woman who is pale is a woman who never goes outside. A woman who is pale and never goes outside is pampered and spoiled. A woman who is pale, who never goes outside, pampered, and spoiled means she listens to father. A woman who is pale, never goes outside, pampered, and listen to a father is conquerable. A woman who is pale, never goes outside, pampered, listens to father, and conquerable is easy prey. Easy prey doesn't have strength, easy prey doesn't have will when cornered, easy prey is always available, easy prey is easy. Women are easy.

All men have to do is make friends with father and the woman is theirs. And when the father is out of the picture, they listen to them by force if necessary. No one would believe that a father would recklessly just give their daughter away. So, any accusations on the man from the "wife" is null. A wife could file a divorce, but the backlash on women are much more severe than a man. A divorced woman would live in shame, most likely be forced in prostitution because the father will most likely not receive her to save face. She would be free, but at the cost of luxury and stability. How many women are willing to give up the life of nobility? No if a hand must be played it is one of deadly consequences. Either live with the man who blemishes the body or kill the man who tainted the mind. Being arrested for murder was preferable than to live on the streets of prostitutes. However, being arrested only counted if one got caught. Much more women prefer taking a chance at murder than divorce.

At this day and age, women were scary, but because they have reason too.

Lilith stopped. Her hair was shiny and relatively straight. Her natural hair tends to curl in at the ends, but due to the brushing, it was wavier as her hair descends.

She got up and vacated her chair to the bed, but not before blowing out all the candles as she made her way to sleep. The room slowly got dimmer with each candle blown out.

Women want to look like her. They wanted her deadly glow, her fake pitched voice, her almond, possibly cat shaped, eyes, and her long luxurious hair. They wanted to be sickly pale, to be anorexic in the stomach, but with ample chests and birthing hips. They wanted their lungs up to their hearts, their intestines to their uterus, and their figure to be the very skeleton that resides in their body. This obsession for perfection was hauntingly disfigured. It should not be a model for perfection. It was a model for a trend of body dysmorphia, a trend that has taken shape in the Victorian era.

She got to her bed with a single candle still a lit on the bedside table.

But then again, she was the one who set the trend. As she appears in public more often, men gather to ogle at her. Some knew how to mask, most didn't bother. Others even divorce under the pretense they were not happy with their wife. It just happened to coincide at the time when she was eligible for marriage when she turned 18. Men were easy to read. They are ruled by instinct when shown a note-worthy prize. One that was denied for so many years till recently.

She made noble women fear of divorce not caused by their own discretion. They tried to diminish her appearance by not inviting her to social events ruled by women; her power by staying close to their husbands, giving them more than enough attention so their eyes wouldn't wander; her credibility by spreading rumors by the dozen to catch fire and spread till their was nothing but ash. All attempts were proved naught. Now they do what they can only do. Imitate. After all, imitation is the best form of flattery.

She blew out the last candle making her room as dark as the night.

It's better that the noble women only copied her physical appearance. If they copied anything else, she might cause a revolution in England.

* * *

A/N: So initially I wanted to do a double update with chapter 11, but this ran like 1,500 words and I thought it was a bit too short to be its own chapter. I decided to update another day and what better day then the 1st of October! So this came out relatively quickly, thank sporadic updates, or curse at them. Whatever floats your boat. I may not update for a while as stuff gets busy at the ending months.

So yeah I decided to just add another "Filler" chapter and I may or may not want to continue it a bit for a while. Or take advantage of "filler" chapters. Who knows?


	13. Chapter 13: Vacation

A/N: Double Update. I normally don't put authors note in the beginning, but I will do it if its something like Double updating or something important happened. Though usually for double updates I will typically have AN both in the beginning and the end of chapter, if only to warn in the beginning and whatever i actually need to say at the end.

* * *

It was a sunny day. The sun was bright, the air was cool, and sea was right at her peripherals. People bustled around her as her two blonde servants sightsaw with her a few ways behind. She wore a simple Victorian style dress. It was a white mid sleeve top with a high neck. Her skirt was blue with almost an unnoticeable floral pattern, but it started just at her waist and not at her hips. The skirt, at first, mimicked a corset before traditionally flaring out in a puffy fashion. She wore lace gloves that end at her wrists and a cream-colored pendant on her neck.

It wasn't one of the rare days in England where the beginnings of pollution seem to disappear. Neither was she out in the countryside roaming the outskirts of England where the queen's influence was lacking inï¿½ faith. Lilith was far away from England and she enjoyed every moment of it. She walked over a stone bridge that arched over a small part of the sea where there were multiple people who took transportation on a boat.

The man on one of the boats looked at her direction and gave a lovely smile. He took his hat off and tipped his head.

"Buongiorno Miss, would you like a ride?"

"Maybe another time, lo sir."

Lilith smiled, but declined the man. He shrugged and continued to row to wherever. Lilith was in the country of Italy in the city of Venice. She was here officially on business for the queen. Italy's situation has long been past cordial. To any noble in her trade, when visiting Italy, it was considered vacation. The relations of the two improved with or without intervention. However, it was not without concern.

Lilith stopped in front of a small cafï¿½. She gestured to both of her servants who helped her sit down, before sitting down themselves. In Italy, there still remained a hierarchy, with its ruler, its nobles, etc., but they mostly never delve farther than their own territory. No noble in Italy would recognize an English noblewoman, especially without their significant other. It helped she was not dressed the part of a _Nobildonna_ or more specifically a _Marchesa._ In the streets of Italy, she looked nothing more than a middle-class woman, possibly upper middle class with her two servants; one of which can pass as a significant other.

She was on her way toward St. Marks plaza where she was going to meet up with one of her cohorts in the economic prosperity of England. Soon after, both should be able to rendezvous with the big player of Italy that deals with majority of the ports here in Venice. Goods and services are all there is to economics, transportation and presentation are just a facet that is tied along with it.

She placed her order when a waiter from the small café greeted her group. After he left she made conversation with Clyde and Bart. They mostly talked about the happenings in the manor. They jumped from subjects like how the mock town was progressing, who in the manor is preforming well, who in the manor is preforming inefficiently, and what's through the other doors in the servant quarters hidden room (Lilith never gave a clear-cut answer to that particular question).

As much as she was at ease at the moment, she had her guard up in regard to the Italians around her. She mentioned before that even though Italy and England's relationship improved, the inner workings of this country were rocky. Corruption was as embedded to their system as England was obsessed with their tea. She could spot slight tensions as she roamed from place to place. All of which were the beginning and ending of territories of various mafia affiliates. It was broad daylight, so it wasn't truly noticeable, unless one was actively finding the clues for it. The two before her were blind to the subtle shifts in accents, the increase/decrease of foot traffic from one area to another, and the different emphasis in cleanliness.

The waiter appeared before them once more, placing their order in front of them all. She minutely noticed a small paper was beneath the plate of her chosen snack. Her eyes wandered to the waiter who eyes traced her owns to a brunette inside the café. Beautiful and young, but obviously out of place in this establishment due to her clothes. They all replied in gratitude and began to eat. Back to her previous thoughts. For example, the cleanliness emphasized in this area was presentation of objects. Her expresso was still steaming, and her choice of snack was artistically designed. She took a sip and enjoyed her coffee.

In another area the cleanliness was focused on the body, where personal hygiene reigned, thus having more attractive people and a fragrant of soap lingering in the air. Also on her trip to Italy another cleanliness was focused on the floor. The ground, the streets, even the sea that was part of their territory was cleaned of any trash. Not once had she seen a slum like alley way or even an obviously stray cat, and not even a piece of gum littered the floor.

She took piece in her frittelle alla Veneziane, accompanying the dessert was a cup of Italian expresso. Lilith couldn't help herself and spoiled herself by taking everything Italy could offer her. She had just a few more hours before work had to take priority. And it has been quite a while since she had this type of caffeine; don't get her wrong, she loved tea, but having it everyday breakfast, lunch, and dinner, she needed variety once in a while. Luckily, the trips she takes for the queen around Europe sufficed her need of variety.

Lilith pondered how funny her situation was. Besides her obvious circumstances, just a while back she complained how her life was mundane, how she tired of the routine she set herself up, how bored she was waiting for the dominoes to fall. Now that they have (albeit slow, the metaphor was merely the first she thought of that fit the situation, although it doesn't really fit if thought about) she treasures these moments of monotone.

"Mistress, I believe we must leave."

She took her cup of expresso and placed it in front of her lips, but not sipping the drink. Her eyes peered over her cup to briefly see men in suits. It was black made of quality silk, their white dress shirts were cleanly pressed, and their hair was slicked out of their face given a few had a hair loose or a cow lick. Despite having the nice clothes, the designer shoes, the obvious presentation of wealth, they were more than just men. She could tell they weren't noblemen; they delved deeper in the underground trade then she ever had.

Clyde may be old, but he knew trouble when he saw it. He was hoping for a relaxing stroll in the country of Italy. He usually was the one of the people who accompanied her in her trips out of country, either him or the head maid, Collette. Then one other if she was feeling particularly apathetic or generous. For long trips it tended to be Collette because of physiological needs, or him when the trip was somewhat short which doesn't needï¿½ female expertise.

This was far from Clyde's first cricket game and the opposing team looked more than any of them can handle. He saw his mistress take a sly look to the perpetrators while Bart seemed like he was ready to run like the devil was in their presence. His mistress placed the coffee down. Quite honestly, he never saw the appeal of coffee. It may be because of his bias opinion and his upbringing, but his mistress seemed to take a liking to the black drink. He understands the necessity of the drink as it did its job more effectively in the shorter run for a caffeine boost, however tea does the same given time. In addition, everything in the manor ran efficiently, nothing was ever rushed (except for those untimely visits) and the pace was already fast. Tea, more often than not, signalized a break, not its intended use of being an energy boost that is advertised.

However, he was getting off track. There was a potential threat in the vicinity. He is aware his mistress is subjectively beautiful, and it was entirely possible that the men in their view could find their mistress completely unattractive, maybe even hideous. Yet Clyde was never known to take chances, and considering Mistress Laughleft's line of suitors in England alone, he would rather be safe than sorry.

The group of three carefully watched the mob of men in their peripherals while trying to finish much of their respective drinks and edible goods. Bartholomew was not amused, he wasn't surprised, and least of all he was not scared. However, he knew enough growing up in all the streets of England to know not to mess with people like them. He was ready to run the moment a hand got to close to their firearms, the moment when their lips curl into a disgusting frown, or even a double meaning smile.

The tension was building, but no one reacted to it. A smart move. If those thugs suspect anything of them they will be targeted, forget their original intentions. This was clearly one of those mob group territories. With territories comes protection, protection means mob, mob means selective protection, if someone was not in selective protection they are a loose end, loose ends must be tied or cut.

Bartholomew would not like to be caught or dead.

He wasn't mindlessly sightseeing the view of being outside the domain of England (though he must admit he was doing that 90% of the time there) he looked for exits, hiding places, and places to lose a tail. Unfortunately, the options were limited to three options: 2 escape routes (one simply running, the other escaping and hiding) and the last is surrendering to them (the last option was the give up option; the option that was always there, but very few would rather die than surrender).

He was willing to lead both his Mistress and Sir Clyde escape, however if they were to per say fall (Mistress due to her general attire) or could simply not keep up (Sir Clyde due to his old age) he was not going to try to help them keep up with his pace. He might try to help them if they got captured only if he could tail them and not get caught in his botched attempt of a rescue mission. He learned to respect his mistress and he even began to admire her and enjoyed her company. Nevertheless, he was not so mindlessly giving his entire being as devotion to the Laughleft heiress. He was beginning to, but not enough to pass the "loyalty" test.

Bartholomew finished his sandwich and drink. He looked toward the others and saw them relatively done with their dishes. He saw Sir Clyde pulled out his wallet and place the money on the table underneath the drink of his mistress. It was finally time to leave. He continued to talk animatedly like he never noticed the group of intimidating men just a few feet away from him. Mistress Laughleft and his supervisor nodded and put their input every now and again just like before. All three of them were still watching the suspicious people in suits as they made their way to a more openly public street deeper into one of the men's territory.

He suddenly tripped over his two feet. Or at least he thought. He was shoved away from a lower-class brunette, she seemed to know what was going on and trying so desperately to flee the area. He looked back to the men and saw all of them looking at the fleeing woman. How ugly, she will not live by morrows end. He complained like a stereotypical male when touched of lower class. It was disgustingly scripted, but the focus was away from their group and painted a bigger target on the unknown woman's back.

Not one bit did he find guiltiness gnawing at him. This was not his first time, and this was not going to be his last; his time on the streets may have been dulled by being spoiled, but it was still a core part of his being. _Every man for himself_. This was a truth in all levels of society and life. A rule that is certain in this uncertain world.

* * *

"Tell me Sir Francis, where is this contact."

The pair was waiting at St. Marks plaza waiting for this Italian contact. Her servants were away off, but still within calling distance. It was past noon and the sun was shining high. The heat wasn't beaming down on them, a fact that Lilith was smitten about. It was like a warm glow near a fire on a cold night. Their location near the Mediterranean Sea clearly is the cause of this most wonderful climate.

However, Lilith's patience was wearing thin. She always came early to any meeting place to scope out an area, a trait she had before this time. A while after Sir Francis came along and they decided to wait together.

"He said he would be here at 1400 Lady Laughleft."

Clearly, it was past that time. They waited a bit after, approximately 30 minutes, but no sign of him. Lilith can be patient, she has been for most of this life, but this was supposed to be an easy exchange of information. This was considered as her vacation, she would like to treat it as such without worrying to do some errand for the queen for the rest of her stay here.

"Well." Lilith said

"Yes?"

"Do we even know what he looks like?"

Silence ensued, and her temperament rose slightly. She knew the answer already; the hesitation was in his mouth. What a useless male. His delay in answer spoke volumes and he only replied when Lilith stared directly into his eyes.

"Not that I am aware of."

"Does he know what we look like?"

Last chance, male.

"I presume not."

He wasted it. She mentally sighed in resignation. He may be just a merchant, but he is one of the major merchants in England. She doesn't have to play proper around him and he listens to her more often than his own opinions. Yet, her status as a marchioness must be maintained even without no peering eyes. She smiled at Francis and gave him a "gentle" look.

"I'll get to searching."

"You do that." She dismissed him to find either their contact, or at least, more information about who he is. She figured he would've known who they were meeting consider it was he who recommended the idea which she brought to the queen. It never crossed her mind that he heard about this individual through a grape vine.

"Clyde, Bart." Her servants were summoned immediately at a respectable distance away from their mistress. She doesn't trust Francis alone to gather information and she still has 4 days before she must departure back to England. The silent command was still palpable within the Laughleft manor.

"Yes, Mistress." The bowed before leaving to find information about this Italian informant. She supposed it was her fault for not looking deeply into this agreement. Typically, she was meticulous; it was a job requirement, along with being a desperately needed life skill, if her life was to ever be where she stood today. She looked around the plaza and saw many people bustling all around her. It would be foolish to stand in the middle of this busy square waiting for a person she won't recognize. She decided to walk at a languid pace to all the buildings and statues in the area. She would not go in because her servants and Francis must be able to find her. For now, she will admire the architecture of anything within her vision.

The area was well spaced out where no one was bumping and stumbling over each other, the buildings were absolutely stunning. No picture could quite describe the beauty of Italy or architectural feat that stood before her. At the time, she was admiring the clock tower. It more looked like another building than a tower, but its magnificence was still a beauty to look at.

"Torre dell'Orologio."

She looked at the peripherals of her sight and could only distinguish a male that stood beside her. There was no one else within talking distance for either of them so she had the audacity to presume this man was talking to her.

"Designed and built between 1496 and 1499 by Mauro Codussi. It is the pinnacle of Venetian Renaissance architecture. At least as a personal preference."

She turned her head to him to truly look at who she was talking to. Or so far, being lectured by. He wore a basic Italian made suit, his shoes were not of high class, but it was of great quality. He had a neat appearance with milky skin. His eyes were of almond shape and made of the darkest of browns, a very attractive feature. His hair was under a fedora, but what she could see it was black. The most particular aspect was his sideburns. They curled ever so slightly, it seemed to be trimmed recently. He was clean shaven and was tall.

He was attractive, and she would announce it as a statement of fact. She couldn't quite untangle the mess in her mind to see if her proclamation was bias or not?

"Excuse me I didn't know I advertise myself as a tourist."

He turned to her and he gave a smirk. How strange, proper protocol called for a smile. Perhaps he is not of noble decent. Which means she does not need to entertain him any longer, however since she has free time, she could entertain herself with him. In addition, it seems like he willing to play a game with her.

"I never presumed you were."

"Yet you seem to believe I need a brief history of Torre dell'Orologio."

"I merely like to remind the people of Italy about the historic value of the clock tower."

"It seems to me you like to hear yourself talk."

A grin made her way to her face and she did not bother to hide it. She slyly looked his way and no doubt there was a twinkle in her eyes, proclaiming a comeback as witty as hers. He reciprocated the same twinkle as acceptance. The exaggeration of their encounter is something she holds to the abnormal physics in this world.

"Excuse me miss, I seemed to fail to recall introducing myself. I am Leon."

No surname? And for some strange reason a twist entered her gut telling her that was a lie. She was not one to follow her gut as information is better than a "feeling". Although, she was in Italy and she is tempted to throw cation to the wind for once.

"Luche."

"If you're not busy at the moment, I would love to escort you to wherever you're going."

"I seem to have some free time in my hands."

The amusement of this exchange was mutual. It seemed both parties are aware of the lies in this conversation and neither are willing to point them out. Both seemed to see how far they can play this ruse.

"Well grant me the honor to be your guide for the day."

She looked around the plaza trying to find Clyde, Bart, or Francis. None were in sight and it was apparent it would take some time to find this Italian contact. She knew she should stay in St. Marks plaza to make her location known and apparent. If she were to vacate the vicinity her servants may be concerned of her whereabouts.

"Of course."

On the other hand, there were a lot of subjects to discuss in this location alone. She highly doubts they would leave the plaza with the remaining daylight hours.

* * *

"Clyde just bring my supper up to my room and you two are free for the night. Use the time wisely."

It was near evening, just enough time to make and eat supper. After her meeting with Sir Francis and Leon, she holed herself in her inn's bed chambers. Clyde and Bartholomew shared a room a floor beneath hers. The search was unsuccessful in locating the representative, but useful information was received. She immediately wrote in her notebook with her inkwell and pen. She listed all the important subjects to be discussed about the transaction between England and Italy correspondents and the options that were possibly available on both sides. This would become a meeting between Italy's current king and England's current queen. Then another set of representatives of both countries would lay out the terms, clarify the agreement and implement changes immediately.

She wasted a whole day meant for the meeting with some other Italian man. Fortunately, Lilith was a productive woman. She couldn't say the meeting was a flop without dire consequences, and they may be cutting time short with the complications. However, she can shorten the time by touching on all major concepts in the agreement and make a basic settlement that would be moldable for both sides and have room for compromise.

She was still writing when a knock descended upon her door. The unknown visitor didn't clarify who they were, but she presumed it was one of her servants. She got up from her spot from the table that was stationed in her room and glided to the door. Her glasses were still perched on her nose as she opened the door. She was not disappointed to see she was right. Bart was standing before her with a tray of food. Tonight's dinner seemed to be bread, soup, and a small fruit bowl. It was very basic, but considering her lodging and how late the meeting got, it was no surprise.

She gave her thanks to Bart before grabbing the tray of food. She turned around to place the food on her bed as her notebook and several other papers lay on the table. She heard the door close when she made her trip from the door to the table; she went back to the door to lock it. Many unfortunate events can happen, and she was not one to invite them so openly. Lilith cleaned up the table, placing all her work-related documents on the bedside table before grabbing her food and placing it on the correct furniture.

She ate in silence.

It was typical of her.

She finished her meal with ease. It wasn't atrocious or mediocre as she expected to be, which was a pleasant surprise. After she was done she placed all the dishes outside her room and again locking it. The suitcases were the trademark colors of the Laughleft Family: Gold and green. She grabbed two of the suitcases and hauled them closer to the bed; she opened both up, one of them was filled with clothes, the other feminine needs. She picked all the clothes in her suitcase and placed them on the bed. She then laid the suitcase on the floor and felt for Velcro. Once she found it, she pulled the cloth of the suitcase back. Underneath was a horrifying dress for noble women. It was a peasant dress. It was made of cheap cloth, had a chef's apron, the skirt was flat with lack of crinoline or petticoats, and it was nowhere near ornate. The accessories were just as bland and tasteless.

She took the outfit out and brought the dress to the lavatory. She promptly changed into the peasant clothing. When she went back into the bedroom, her hair was pinned as flat to her head as possible with poor excuses of bobby pins and a wig cap. Which was made of some stocking like material. She grabbed her other bag that she pulled to the bed and found a zipper on the side which only opens 11 inches when the zipper looks like it could open the case fully. She stuck her hand in and pulled out a blonde wig with brown roots. It was of medium length, and slightly curled. However, the curls may be due to the state it was in, in her baggage. She placed the wig on pinning them with the sad excuse of bobby pins to the comical wig cap. From the same bag, she opened the bag as intended and searched out a black powder inside a small container.

Once she found it she paced back to the lavatory with a black powder in her hand. She closed the bathroom door and stared at her complexion. She was still disgustingly pale, but it was going to be used to her advantage. She opened the container with the black powder and dipped her finger inside ever so slightly. She traced a line under the cheekbones, smeared some on her neck, enhanced her collarbone with the same black powder, and once more under her eyes. Once given the harsh lines, she dispersed them by rubbing them, giving it a more grayish look. She stopped once she was satisfied by her appearance; her face was of a gaunt woman. She needn't do more for the rest of her skin was covered saved by her hands, but if a man only took one look at her, they would stray away. They would not notice her hand complexion did not match her face. However, if they did, they would be more concerned about the black patches on them. The leftover powder certainly can detract them from looking closely. She used a handkerchief she pulled from one of the pockets in her dress and turned the doorknob.

She was ready. She dimmed the lights in her room to a faint glow, grabbed a rope from her luggage, and opened her window. She was on the 3rd story; the highest story in this humble inn. Her window led to a small garden outside with trees, herbs, and small potted plants. She tied the rope to the curtain handle near her window. Once that was secure, she made her way down closing the window slightly. Once she was on ground level she threw part of the rope onto a tree, to keep some of it hidden.

This was not her first time, and hopefully it wasn't going to be her last, but even she needed to take precautionary measures. She circled around the small garden to find a way out without attracting attention. She found none of the sort as it was encased with brick walls. She looked around before attempting something. No one was around in her general vicinity and no sound surrounded the inn.

Lilith took a deep breath while tensing her muscles. She ran toward the wall, running up it briefly, before grabbing onto the edge and flinging herself over it. She landed quite harshly on the other side which appeared to be a through street. She froze and looked around again. She strained her ears to hear if someone was coming. Not even a mouse moved. She got up, not bothering to dust herself off as it would make her character even more believable.

She quickly moved to the nearest alleyway trying to find the rendezvous place between St. Marks Plaza and her inn. It was time to meet up with her contact.

* * *

A/N: Buongiorno= Good morning/ Good day

lo sir= a respectful way to address a man

Nobildonna= noblewomen

Marchesa= Italian word for Marchioness

1400= Approximately 3 in the afternoon. I could be wrong.

Here are some of the translations, but you really don't have to know these to completely grasp the story. Anyway here's the chapter.


	14. Chapter 14: A working woman

A/N: DOUBLE UPDATE. If you're like me, whenever a story updates I usually press the little arrow beside the title to go to the most recently published chapter. Well you need to go back one more chapter or you are probably lost right now. So go back a page and continue reading Nobility.

* * *

"Delores is dead."

Lilith didn't deign a response. She didn't care, nor did she comprehend if this name had any significant value. She stood before a man who was thick; thick in frame, thick in eyebrows, thick beard, etc. He was clean shaven like all men in this country, his hair was black that was parted at the side, slicked backed, and short. His eyes were at a permanent squint as he leveled his gaze to her. He had stereotypical appearance of an Italian man and most likely had just a generic name to him.

She did not know his name, she couldn't bother. She could barely remember her own servants' names, she couldn't bother to remember every informants' name either.

"Vira."

Ah, yes. She went by the persona Vira. A poor woman who, lucratively, had many important contacts. Typically, viewed as a radical "feminist" due to her "libertarian" personality. Or in this decade, a woman that can't keep her mouth shut and obsessively makes her opinions known. Assumed to be an immigrant from England because she didn't "understand" the Italian language.

The women's suffrage movement doesn't happen until another 30 or so years from now. So the term feminist is wrong, and that would actually be an insult to the women in the future if she would call this persona a feminist. She would be near the age of 50 by the time the movement comes. Lilith is definitely not staying that long in this inane universe. She rather jump off a cliff.

Lilith, however, did know Italian, to a certain extent. In addition to a few other languages. Yet, for some reason she couldn't write, or understand the language in written form. She was fluent in speaking and understanding, but illiterate in writing. Her reading was abysmal, but she had some skill. Besides she is not a noble right now.

"Vira, you owe me."

She shivered, but not because of the cold. She has been consciously translating the words being spoken. The man before her, spoke in heavy slang with his Italian accent sometimes slipping in some phrases that were clearly not English. No matter she could still comprehend, it was a necessity in her line of work. Yet, she could feel contempt rolling over the both of them. For her ire, his inability to learn proper English despite it being 8 months since their meeting. For him, most probably due to her entire being.

She helped him keep his business afloat, why would she owe him? Because of one person? That was foolish, she obviously had done more for him to make up for one whore.

"No, I own you."

A blunt pain reached from her cheek to her eye, she didn't even register when he approached her. She was knocked down, her body flung to the side like a ragdoll due to the hit. Saliva pile in her mouth as she tried to stand, before giant hands dragged her to the wall, keeping her standing. One hand covered her mouth while the other supported her weight by pinning them above her head. He was obviously bigger than her in size; both width and length.

"You got lucky, bitch."

The man gazed at the sickly woman, she was deathly pale with her skin clinging onto the skeletal frame. The bags underneath her eyes made her look 20 years older. She was overconfident, dumb, and ugly. Yet, it was this sack of bones that made his brothel the main hub for Italian nobility. His business borderlined bankruptcy; disparity became a friend to him. However, he didn't think that this infertile woman could help. This woman was poor, unhinged, and god forbid filled with diseases! However, this woman managed to bring his brothel to the highest level it can possibly serve and stock him with a few girls to start off with. He would only admit that this street bum never wronged him. When his business was able to support itself, he was thinking of tying up loose strings; bite the hand that fed him as soon as she became un-useful. But every time he hired someone to get rid of this roach, she would disappear and appear months after.

Nothing lined up. No way Vira was more influential than him. It was impossible.

"Saving your shit trade is not luck" she mumbled.

See, damn ghost couldn't keep its mouth shut, even with his palm on her mouth.

"I don't care who you fucked." He growled. His hand trailed off her mouth and he smeared the dirt on her face further down her body. Despite the woman's dangly figure, he could feel more meat than he initially gave her credit for. His one hand skimmed the dress Vira owned. He had to control himself from gagging or reeling back in disgust by a damp spot on her clothing, the black grime crawling on her fingers, or just the general odor of her person. His mind gave possible explanations for the wet spot (urine, jizz, or sewer water), the grime (mold, dirt, old blood), and the smell.

He can't say he is the epitome of good health or a serious practitioner in hygiene. However, to the very least, he is mindfully conscious of the body. Something this woman needs.

"But if we slap some makeup on you and miraculously get you clean, I guess you would be decent."

Because despite his abhorrent attitude towards her, he knows a good catch when he sees it. Men like the blondes, and ones with vivant eyes sell out fast. In addition, she was penniless, giving a roof over her head would make him seem like a charitable man.

And Dolores is dead. Damn cunt probably knew there was going to be showdown between two rival families in the Dinero territory. Meet up at the café Vira said. It was safe she said. Dolores was his top seller! She was the least used in his brothel. Now what is he supposed to sell to the nobles! Angelica? Shephira? At this rate he might have to track how many times a woman is requested to keep business running. Why do nobles always want those with the least requests? If they want a virgin, they'll fuck their wives. Heaven knows those women never get any action in their lives.

Lilith was still out of it. After being punched in the face, falling to the stone streets, then dragged and threaten against the wall. She can't really comprehend much. Although she was able to understand that she was being threatened and the mans hands were to close to her body. Did her looks not frighten him of getting malaria or some disease?

She had to admit, even with all her knowledge and daily exercise, she was still weak compared to men. Especially working-class men. For all the books she read with a female lead, to the documentation of strong independent women, and even the horribly written women she seen pubescent girls fantasize to be, no one could've said she wasn't strong enough. They talk grandeur of their accomplishments, skim past their harsh obstacles, forgo the thought process going on at the time and focus on the building up the pride of being woman.

Have a cunt's arse in the middle of Thames.

She would throw a gasket if she wasn't disassociated right now. Other characters would "shake it off" and "punch the disrespectful chav" or a bibliography of an independent woman role model would write "He may have hit me, but I had hit him where it mattered most: dignity." Those responses should have a cunt in the Moulin Rouge. She was undoubtedly furious. Not once, had a man hit her so recklessly, given, in this persona, she was an uncouth, loud mouth bitch, but usually a man thinks twice before hitting a woman. Usually a flinch satisfied a man's pleasure for superiority, knowing a woman fears them made their hat taller apparently. Men are behemoths for gaining power through abuse, but the tactic worked, or at least it did. Chav he was, didn't allow her to recoil to show submissiveness. It felt like he was going to hit her no matter what she said, like the hand was already reeled back before the meet up.

Her skin quaked in both his touch and the air. Trepidation crawled her entire being. The movements of his hands were being carefully documented and all she wanted to do was forget where his hands were trailing. Her heart seemed to beat loud, yet she felt like an unbearable ring overlapped both of their ears. She hoped her heart beat wasn't noticeable, and on the off chance it was, she prayed the man wouldn't take it as a sign of attraction. Her eyes seemed to engrave every detail around her, but not on her. His eyes didn't seem to reach the very core of her sole, but just the physical appearance on the surface. For once, she hated the leer; if only because he was able to touch what even the highest echelon couldn't.

The man stopped, and he released her. Lilith, or in this case Vira, heard a bellowing and throaty laugh as she slid to the ground with her back to the wall and her butt sitting on the cold stone floor. Lilith didn't care, her head was down, and she was mentally tried to command her body to stop herself potentially hyperventilating.

"You sure are cocky aren't you!"

He mocked. His insults continued.

"Why would anyone want a hideous bum like you. Even if we groomed you, your beauty would barely surpass the widowed middle-aged women."

He continued his rant in the dead of night. No one truly roam the streets of Italy at night. Only minor subordinates wandered the night and only around the main/branch houses of the dominating family. He found it hilarious that Vira thought she was worth being sold. Even if the nobles and mafia are preferring blondes with green or blue eyes, she was far out of even the most hideous subordinates league. If he made her a call girl he would face a major expense with her freeloading in his brothel.

His brothel had vivacious redheads, classy brunettes, and sly blondes. All of them had a certain flamboyant flair, but all of them can execute their job perfectly. All of them dry their regulars' wallets to its leather binding. They do, after all, work based on commission. Only recently, was he requested by new nobles or mafia members for new or more girls. Certainly, they have their favorites in his brothel, although, those they usually request was already booked or with another client. Dolores was a classy brunette with an innocent vibe the men got hooked on. When they learned she was rarely used, her requests tripled in a week. The option of "denial" was advertised for her image that made even more men want her. Things men want, but can't get was a trend recently.

He believed that trend first appeared in England. Something about a widowed noblewoman beauty? Or a metaphor based on the war in Egypt or India trying to break away. He heard information through the grape vine, never by original source. He also doesn't bother confirming the information if the information was not of immediate use for him.

He started walking away from the gangly street rat, leaving for his brothel.

"Find me another girl for my business and I'll call it even. You have till end of this month."

He heard her scurry away. He can always expect to see results when it comes to Vira though. He turned the corner and accidentally bumped into a man.

"Ay!" the brothel owner yelled.

He turned to face the other person when he saw him run toward the direction where Vira went. He judged the character to be rich as he wore very expensive and ornate clothing. His blonde hair was tied up into a ponytail and he seemed middle aged like himself. The brothel owner scratched his neck before leaving, ignoring the confrontation with the other man.

* * *

"Mistress, should we be weary of the man."

"No need, he is pleasant company."

Bart nodded, not truly believing that they should trust the man. It was of surprised that their mistress was the one to not only find the Italian representative, but hashed out a more detailed plan for the respective countries. Truly their mistress was capable. The initial meeting was to create a fluid, but skeletal agreement for the two countries that would be refined as the years goes on. That plan fell through when the merchant didn't even know what their contact looked like.

He and Sir Clyde searched for hours: gathering intel, profiling, then interviewing perspective candidates that had the background for international affairs. They repeated the same process for the following days until their departure. It wasn't until this morning, when their mistress was not in her room, but at a small café around the corner of the inn they were staying at, they saw her dining with some Italian man.

Sir Clyde was the one to break the news that they couldn't find the Italian dignitary. Her response was as expected, but then the man she was conversing with revealed he was the dignitary. She dismissed both her servants, and now they were traveling back to England. The merchant, Sir Francis, was recalled back to England a day before because of some scandal.

Lilith leaned against the carriage window, daydreaming. The beauty of nature replaced the Italian landscape. She wasn't going to take a carriage the entire trip to England. When they reach a port town in France they will travel by steamboat.

The day after her encounter with that despicable man she encountered "Leon" again. The damn brothel owner left a bruise on her face. It didn't appear over night, but it was forming and she can feel the swelling on her face. She didn't fully prepare for her encounter to be physical, so she only had some rub to calm down the swelling and some typical powders. It was fine for the remaining days she stayed in Italy, but now the bruise was noticeably forming. Even with the rub and powders. She hid them by wearing a hat with a cover in the front.

Leon seemed equally surprised when they encountered each other once more. They both talked in their respective alias and decided to spend another day together. There was less sharp wit and circular reasoning and more discussions and opinions. They both were pleasantly surprised with each other's company. Lilith made it clear in her body language that she would not tolerate any physical contact that day, for obvious reasons privy to only herself. She was still shaken with what happened the night before. He, being the intellectual that he was, understood the missive and act like a gentleman in her presence.

That was the (supposedly) correct domino to fall as it set a chain reaction. For the remaining of her vacation days they went on a series of mini "dates". Talking within the subjects of mathematics, science, and politics. They were all lengthy discussions with an abundant amount of information. Little did either of them knew, they were looking for each other.

On the final day of her vacation, she met up with "Leon" for breakfast before she would leave for her home country. When her servants provided the information that they could not locate the Italian representative they were looking for, she was disappointed. She held her own servants to a high standard and seeing them bear no fruit was dissatisfying. She began to mentally provide several reasons why this mission was a failure to the queen when her company decided to intrude.

…

 _"_ _Excuse me, but since you've decided to have this conversation in front of me, I can't help, but to intrude."_

 _Lilith looked toward the handsome man across form her. He had a cup of expresso before of him as she had a cappuccino considering it was still morning. She had a pleasant time with Leon the past few days. He was charming, witty, smart, and had a wicked sense of humor. She will admit she became enraptured by the man, but knew she could never indulge on her whims with him. She will never see the man after this trip and she had her head filled with more important matters at hand. She will always know him as Leon and he will always know her as Luche._

 _"_ _By chance, you wouldn't happen to be Marchessa Laughleft?"_

 _Or that was supposed to be the plan. He wasn't even a character to the books she read, how did she get screwed over again?_

 _"_ _No use on keeping a ruse. How do you know my name? I am certain we have never met before this week."_

 _He smirked once more and cupped his expresso in his hands. He swiveled the cup before taking a sip. He seemed to be waiting for her to have an epiphany of sort. This couldn't be a butterfly affect due to her existence, correct? She didn't believe so. At most, she barely dipped her hand in plot. She was mostly a side thought to any of the main characters. She hypothesized it was possible he heard her name through a rumor, but why would an Italian man –_

 _"_ _Lord Sinclair?"_

 _His expresso had rested on the table when she blurted out her hesitant answer. From Clyde's and Bart's information gathering they were able to deduce the man who she and Sir Francis were suppose to meet was a man named Sinclair. All the while, his smirk was plastered on his face. She would've honestly questioned by replying with 'Sir' instead of 'Lord'. But that was before she found out "Leon's", or in proper terms Sinclair's, family worked for nobility whose hand determines the "worlds" she can and cannot see. To be honest, she thought the worlds he was talking about was of demons and humans, but she scrapped that idea and assumed he meant the surface world and the underworld._

 _"_ _Clyde, Bartholomew, prepare the carriage according to plan."_

 _The two servants bowed and left the two nobilities alone. Although his family served nobility, they apparently acted independently with no repercussions. His family was loyal to the top echelon, but not in servitude. They had no power in nobility, but had a special role in it. It was confusing, he was treated as nobility, but wasn't. That was assuming the information he spoke as Leon was applicable to Sinclair._

 _It was her turn to take a sip of her coffee and nibble on her breakfast. Even discovering each other's real status, they both were at ease._

 _"_ _I must admit, when I approached you I did not assume you were one of the people I was supposed to meet up with. I heard I my contact was an English merchant with company. Never knew his company was the beauty wandering around the plaza."_

 _If she were any other woman, she would be blush and act bashful of his words. Lilith was not any other woman, at least in front of him._

 _"_ _I must question, how did you know I was a marchioness of England if your only information was of meeting a male merchant."_

 _Her role was to be an observer and possibly be arm candy to Sir Francis. Most men outside of the upper nobility are disregarding of women. So, her role, though prominent, was to work behind the scenes._

 _"_ _It was the morning we bumped into each other. Previously, I was informed that the company was of English nobility, a marchessa that was bestowed the name of Snow white. Pieces started to fall."_

 _"_ _Fall, but not complete."_

 _Both smiled in their own way. Lord Sinclair grinned with heavy amusement in his eyes, while Lilith smiled with no teeth and her head tilted to the side. They both took a sip of their respective drinks._

 _"_ _Right you are, marchessa."_

…

After they clarified who they were and re-introduced themselves they started to detail the agreement between England and Italy. During their "dates" they breeched the topic of politics with what if scenarios and so appetence opinions. They both, so happen to, talk about the trade agreement between the two allied countries during their discussion. Once they combed through what was realistically appealing to both, they enjoyed their remaining time together at the café. She was scheduled to leave in the afternoon.

Lilith sighed. Even after everything turned out okay, she knew she wasn't going to see him again. Politics was not his forte he once spoke. He may be good at it, but it wasn't a subject he desired. She understood, and she wasn't planning to meet up with him after this encounter anyway. Getting attached to people was messy, and she was still planning to get back to her time, somehow.

She will admit, this vacation was one she'd like to remember. It was, comparatively, the most easy-going after all.

* * *

A/N: To inform you, if I do a double update, usually I would have two AN. The one up top warning you to go back a page, then the one at the bottom with my usual rant at the end of each chapter.

So this chapter has a lot of perspective switching which, thank god, for third person allows me to utilize that to the point of abuse. Anyway, this is one of the references i usually tie into my stories. Because this is my first story I decided to lay the reference on thick. I might just add more references later, but at a more subtle discretion. I mean I practically gave you the answer at the end of this chapter. If you wish to participate or not in this little mini game is up to you. For this mini game list the character I am referring to, the (In this case) anime, and a trait of the anime or character in the comments section.

No this is not a crossover. A) because timelines don't match. B) I don't like crossovers.


	15. Chapter 15: Her pawn, incapable

"Collette, has there been any rowdy maids lately."

"None, that warrant punishment milady."

The mistress hummed. Lilith had been back in England for a week now and despite wanting to drown that Italian brothel owner in the Mediterranean Sea, he was still useful. However, in a more personal way than obligatory or plot necessity. More specifically, if she was being honest, she used him to get rid of gossip hounds and broken pieces in her manor. She remembered early this season she got rid of three maids.

"Whatever happened to those three maids from before?"

"They have been disposed of since early last winter."

… It seems her time sense is a bit skewed.

Collette continued to dust around her mistress. They were currently in the late Lord Laughleft's office. While her mistress never used anything beyond the desk itself, not even touching the pens or vials left inside the desk, she occasionally worked here for what ever strange reason she pleased. Collette was, personally, disturbed when cleaning this room, but she suspected over time she would get used to it. Even though it has been years, she never did. Apparently, her skills of cleaning and her attention to detail is what made her the head maid. She didn't think much of it. The pay was good, and she could afford. However, the one time she let a different maid to clean the study, the mistress went berserk. It wasn't a grand tantrum, no, nothing of the sort, but mistress Laughleft was on a "creative" streak. It was a period which she poured an alarming amount of money to what used to be the official servant's den. It was before the town was officially constructed, but after the death of Lord Laughleft, and before her promotion. That den is now hiding behind a case of dishware in the middle of the servant quarters. Her mistress made a few "fascinating discoveries" as she had her spiteful streak.

Collette was young, she knew. She came here later than her current mistress and wasn't hired until much later on. She can recollect the memory like a particularly good holiday.

 _The time a different maid cleaned the office of Lord Laughleft, mistress was off hinged to say the least. The entire manor tried to fix whichever the problem was in fear for their jobs (which if she thought about it, an approximate of 50 people were fired, most who were newbies that just walked through the servant door), but they could not help their mistress. Collette took it upon herself to double check everyone's work. When nothing was out of order she went to her own duties. One which included cleaning and organizing the late Lord's office. Once inside, she noticed the office was also quite different. It was clean no doubt, it was organized perfectly, but everything wasn't in its correct place. She mindlessly did her job and made it to how she first saw the office before. It was mechanical and soothing to a fault._

 _A day after the mistress was clearly at peace. It was strange, but the staff was still weary around her for a while. The next time she cleaned the office mistress Laughleft was inside working. She continued her job after apologizing and bowing submissively. After she was done, she was going to dismiss herself and let the mistress work in peace until she stopped her._

 _"_ _Are you the one in charge of cleaning this room."_

 _Collette turned around to face mistress Laughleft. The mistress's head was still down, and her hand effortlessly glide against the paper. If not for her mouth moving, she would've thought the voice was her imagination._

 _"_ _No mistress, but often, I am."_

 _Mistress didn't speak, but she remained still. She wasn't dismissed, so she couldn't leave._

 _"_ _Marquess Laughleft's chambers, study, accessories, and entertainment room. One month, dismissed."_

 _For her those were clear constructions and she obeyed them perfectly._

No later, she was promoted to head maid and she only required to clean the study as the rest of the memorabilia of Lord Laughleft slowly diminished and she started getting closer, in proximity, to the mistress.

Which, truthfully, helps when identifying when the mistress was in a mood. Immediately she noticed her mistress's face was swollen and promptly added a face covering hat or accessory to her daily wardrobe. She doesn't know what happened on her trip, but it clearly wasn't a pleasant place. Collette had a feeling that just giving the mistress a few names will lead to a punishment much more severe than what was warranted.

Lilith's face was doing well, technically speaking. The swelling went down, the discoloration was beginning to fade, and her overall skin was getting a healthy glow. Unfortunately, that was the issue. "Healthy glow" isn't exactly healthy for her. She came down with a fever on the carriage ride back after the getting onto England territory. This version of flush is everyone's version of normal. In addition, the hit she received along her eye and part cheek can now double as eyeshadow if it existed. It was light purple at her crease before turning the reddish brown dark shade at the end. The part that was bruised at the cheek healed up nicely thanks to the multiple salves for it and just left a pinkish hue. Unfortunately, less than a third of those salves could be applied on the eyes. At this moment, it looked like she put foundation on with the wrong undertone and did one eye before just giving up. When she looked at herself this morning she almost laughed that she was still remotely beautiful if not for the symmetry.

Is this why Undertaker wanted her dead? The sicker she got the more alive she looked. Either way, the body was presented at its finest at the funeral. It just so happened that visible marks were an aesthetic: scars, stiches, burns, bruises. She wondered if she got stabbed, would it look artistically stylish like any protagonist or character? If it did, she truly be a beauty fiend. But there is a difference between reality and fantasy, and when she gets back to her own time, reality will be a glorious wake up call.

She wore the hat because whether she tried to put makeup on the other side or not, it was frowned upon to were excessive amounts (or in most cases, obvious pigmentations) of makeup for the majority of England. Though many noble women and men in the courts hide behind pounds of cream products, they were all (relatively in this time era) natural. Men and women have a must to cover their imperfections. She did too, just with hat and not questionable creams and paints of an unknown origin. In addition, she also wore the hat to potentially avoid confrontations with other servants and any unwanted guests (Phantomhive).

Lilith continued to do paper work when a knock on the study door disturbed her. She projected her voice for an allowance of entry.

"Mistress, it is the Marquis of Druitt on the telephone."

"Dismissed Clyde."

The door closed, and Lilith promptly left after finishing the page she was on. She knew Collette would place the documents exactly how her late fiancé did when he was breathing. She exited the study and went to the closest phone available. The phone was not private as it wasn't invented to be on separate lines. Anyone in the household can pick up any of the phones and listen into her conversations with anyone. She wouldn't mind, nothing important is ever on phone calls unless they're a fool.

Clyde was by the phone and held it out for her she took it with ease and Clyde made his rounds.

"Good afternoon, this is Marchioness Laughleft."

"Ah, Nightingale! I was hoping to catch some of your time?"

"Aleistor, pleasant to hear your voice, always."

"Yes, you see I'd like to invite you out on a carriage ride in the daylight hours of Druitt, take you to a nice restaurant that recently opened in my territory-"

She interrupted him by speaking his name, and he allowed her to speak.

"Aleistor, work has been piling my desks for a while and I just got back from a trip for the queen. I am tired, but I need to finish my duties."

His paused was expected, his continuation was not. He spoke like she never interrupted him. Now, typically this is a sign of disrespect and he is supposed to curtly end the conversation, but his next words were acceptable, if only for that instance.

"- In addition to inviting you into my home for a nice cup of tea and a few snacks, small talk by an open fire would end the night splendidly. Won't you amuse me nightingale, if just for the night?"

The rest of the conversation was detailing their outing with her hums for agreement, candy vomit words and bogus flirtatious undertone.

After the phone call she began to prep herself for the adventure of the day.

Aleistor and Mistress Laughleft were amicably chatting the night away. The lady on the couch, while the lord claimed the single seat some little ways from her. Nearly congruent to the time the Marchioness decided to make an appearance to one of Viscount Chamber's party. The one which snowballed to the events leading to now. They were once again in the dark room with the fireplace.

Her legs were curled up on the couch, foregoing the typical manners of a lady noble. Her hands were clasped around the cup of tea near her chest as if embracing the remnants of her late fiancé. She wore a dress unnervingly well for their night together. It was of royal blue with white detailing and black under skirt and over coat. The color scheme was obviously not Laughleft, but of the little terror that plagues the back of Aleistor's mind. One that he had been actively avoiding since his hobby took off. Whether she planned this outfit specifically for their date to remind him of where they stand, or it was a warning specifically meant for him, he couldn't find with of either he feared most.

His eyes trailed whatever skin was exposed to him. Her skin was still of ethereal glow even with the flames of orange and red licking every part of her body the shadows don't touch. Her appearance was drastically different from her public appearance. She wore a hat similar to what she wore when she came in the morning, but it only covered half her face. Along with the hat her hair was styled in a … 'common' like fashion? It was piled to one side, as if she had no hair on that side, with intricate knots and braids into a bun, but the bun itself was sloppy and unorderly. Instead of a nice sleek bun she graced the public eye for so long, this was messy, curly, and seemed like pieces of hair was falling out. Yet, it only enhanced her beauty and not make her look like a common street whore.

Aleistor stood and made his way to the marchioness. He sat beside her on the couch, sliding up to her as close as he could without feeling disturbed simply because of the color scheme she wore. She made no movement, simply rambling on about some story, experience, or another tale. He wasn't truly paying attention to her words, but of her body. A fact she spurted out on a random encounter was that people communicate more than 50% of their intentions through their body. He certainly did not know the real figure, but he couldn't help but agree with her. He had been doing that more often. He questions it, but it yet to prove unreliable.

" -ing isn't it? For a body to be burned without any severe damages it need to reach high enough temperature to thoroughly sear the skin, but keep the blood, bones, and organs unharmed. To only char a body where it still has a functionality to move seems easy, but that would only make artificial wounds that would heal up in a few months, lasting damage is more impressive than just a temporary hinderance. Overheating of a body is bad for surgery, so it would be best to cool it down and keep it below 25.6 degrees Celsius."

Aleistor kept humming. Lilith quite honestly was just droning on and on about topics. She never really like the silence that happens between her and the Viscount. Aleistor seemed to take the silence as approval to make moves on her. While yes, she did give consent to her to take her hand in "holy" matrimony, she was never serious about all those proposals. She didn't have time for them, mentally and physically. She wanted no ties to this place when she ultimately left.

12 years she has been stuck here.

12 years she won't give it up.

12 years she still holds that belief strong.

However, the droning proved naught as Aleistor still felt comfortable in her presence. It was disconcerting, but it seems that he still had some boundaries as he still gives her space since he hasn't progressed further than sitting at the end of her shoes.

The phone rang, breaking both out of their musings.

Finally.

Aleistor leisurely made his way to the phone. With the same energy as his stroll he answered it just as lethargically. He placed a handkerchief over the phone before speaking with the associate.

"Damien?"

"Yes, it's me."

The marchioness gestured Aleistor to bring the landline closer to her. He did, but a bit more haste then when answering the phone. When it was relatively closer, she grabbed the phone with the handkerchief making sure to muffle the sound from the receiver. Mistress Laughleft spoke with a pitched voice a bit higher than usual and smiled slightly as if Damian can see her face.

"Damien dear, it is I. I hope you are at the Phantomhive manor, it is imperative for you to be so."

"No worries, mia principessa, I am here."

Mistress Laughleft waved her hand clearly dismissing the Lord of Druitt albeit temporarily when her hand gestures didn't cease after the wave. He bowed like a proper gentleman and only stood off to the side in the corner of the room. He couldn't hear their conversation completely as the marchioness spoke in softer tones when the phone was closer to her. The same could not be applied to the man on the other side of the phone.

"Wonderous. How is the earl?"

"Christ, I can't stand babysitting."

Both occupants in the room smiled, but for entirely different reasons. One sided with the idea of the earl being just a child, the other smiling at the unfortunate fool.

"Are the preparations done? Did the bidder come though?"

"Yes, the factory is long since sold off. Now I just need to pocket all the cash I swindle out of this brat… "

When Lord Chambers heard the factory being sold off, he could no longer stand still. He rushed to the phone and grabbed it form the noble lady's hand without giving her the chance to speak.

"The deal was not complete. What happened to all the employees?

"The employees? Who cares about them?"

Anyone with higher status cares. This insipid man didn't think about the mass unemployment he caused by just selling the factory. The new owners would have to hire hands to keep the factory, there was a process of transferring of employees to new management. It would've been fine all the employees were citizens of India, but at least 30 Englishmen were in that factory as either supervisors, managers, or have some authoritative power over the working class. Thirty Englishmen lost their jobs. In India. Under the Phantomhive name. It sounds stupid even in his head. How did this man think it was even a remotely smart move?

A gasp was heard over the receiver from Damien.

"Damien."

"Never mind. Anyway, I'll leave the rest of the formalities to you."

Aleistor rubbed his only free hand to his face, only to notice the marchioness was no where in the room. He did a quick scan to make sure he hasn't missed her. He spoke with seriousness, but with no hope he could pull off this favor.

"Do us both a favor, get rid of the kid."

"Sure it's no problem."

"Don't underestimate him. I'm warning you."

Apparently, Damien didn't take his warning seriously if the patronizing tone of his voice was any indication.

"In the end, he's just a kid."

He hung up the phone, taking the handkerchief away. Aleistor sighed, he didn't know Italians can be this stupid. However, it was possible the English are that more superior? He can already see it pan out; a twelve-year-old boy managed to outsmart a middle age Italian man.

He walked out the room in search for the Marchioness or a maid. He found the latter first.

"What ever happened to Lady Laughleft."

"She seemed to vacate the premises. Went to her city home by herself my Lord."

Well at least that was one less thing to have to worry about.

"However, it seemed she left you a message. She told the staff not to touch it. It is under the vase by the door with the camellias."

…With the possibility of two worries that replaced it. He quickly walked to the front door of his mansion and quickly found and read the note.

 _'_ _Stay up late tonight.'_

He wasn't going to get much sleep after tonight anyway.

* * *

The air nipped at the skin of the marchioness. She strolled on the cobbled stones of London's great roads. She had one more errand before the sun can take reign. She walked a familiar path to the denizen of the Undertaker with information he might be delighted to hear.

Her dress was heavy as the road hid in the veils of mist. Her hair was let down from its ungraceful bun. The scene was already ominous as it was, but the madame was not scared. To be truthful, she had grown accustomed to the world where supernatural beings ruin the lives of the living. Being here for how long she has and forced to adapt into this archaic way of thinking was…

Lilith shrieked as she toppled to the ground, staining her dress with the grime of the London streets. She rolled to the side with more dirt painting a pattern on her ridiculously expensive ensemble. A sword took her place in return. She didn't have time to explore the explanations her mind gave her to what was happening, all she wanted to do was run. So, she did. She couldn't run far, because her mind still supplied her body that she was wearing heels and if she were to trip to break her ankle she would be dead. Her decision was to hide in one of the many alleyways of the city.

Whether it was ill-advised or brilliant remained to be debated as she did trip. However, not due to her heels, but of the dead bodies of London's street rats, homeless, and most likely black-market dealers. The alleyway had the perfect horror-esque movie aesthetic with a dim light from the main street, the bodies with blood pooling in places of the eyes, ears, and mouth. Yet the scene seemed beautiful as white feathers glowed around the crime scene in an ethereal glow as if the savior has come too late.

She knew better.

She scrapped any and all the blood from the victims around her and smeared the slimy red residue across her eyes, face, clothes, etc. After, she crawled to the nearest trash bin and rested. The sounds of fighting ceased after. A lonesome walk of some creature entered the alley. The creature either admired the work done here or was offering prayers, as no supernatural being had feathers pure white. The creature seemed to prepare for something as she heard mumbling.

Was this creature going to obliterate them? Either way this was a supernatural fight in which there should be no evidence left for the mortals to decipher. Should she have kept running? That wouldn't do as she would be a witness to their inhuman fight. She was doomed either way.

She should have taken the carriage ride home.

The mumbling ceased, and all was quiet in the alleyway. She didn't dare move, she had seen horror movies back in her time. As soon as the protagonist moved and thought they were safe, the face of the creature would be right in front of them ready for the killing blow. Yet, despite her worries she chanced at opening her eyes as she waited for quite some time and she couldn't stand the filth she was covered in.

She cracked an eye open and screamed.

Or would've if not biscuits were shoved into her mouth, instead she just choked. It began as an awfully creepy smile, then a snicker, a chortle followed after, finally a full on hysterical laughing spree ended his charade. All the while, Lilith was desperately trying to down the biscuit in her mouth without having a heart attack and an aneurism at the same time; she promptly shoved the perpetrator aside as a means to both save herself along with pity revenge.

The Undertaker was amused. He was absolutely delighted with his choice to stroll the London streets. He had plans, however, to continue a side project of his, but a man who was all work and no play made a dull person. He was no dull person. Seeing a battle between a fallen and a current angel was rare, yet he was no foreigner to battles like so. While it was amusing, it ended far too quickly and expected.

Pity, really.

The victor of the battle left as soon as the threat was vanquished. Undertaker roamed the area, slightly hoping to gather somethings of value from the battle won. He wasn't expecting much considering beings from that side of the spectrum either left little to no collateral or evidence to be found. They were meticulous like that. So, imagine his surprise, barely into his search, when he found an alley with bodies littering the ground and blood everywhere. He was delighted when he saw the bodies were still salvageable. He began mumbling as he thought of more options to continue his little side project of his. Then he noticed something to the side of trashcan in the alley.

There, plastered between the wall and a woman's body was a single feather. It was soiled and dirtied, but it gave off a slight glow. He crept up to the feather as if it was going to run away if he emitted any sound. He crouched down to observe if the feather was authentic or merely an accessory to this woman. Angels were meticulous, he knew that, but this one seemed to miss a single feather. No doubt the Angel retrieved the holy weapon he was using and confiscated the other one from the other, and there were no feathers when he entered the alley, no white and certainly no grey ones. The woman itself was dressed exuberantly, no doubt a noble. A feathered accessory was within reason to doubt the feather was not from the pure angel. A smile adorned his lips as it was authentic as it could be. He reached into his coat reaching for a bag to place this treasure of his somewhere safe.

He saw vibrant green, even in the dark alleyway.

Lili?

Both eyes seemed to pop open, confirming it was an acid type green he was familiar with. Instead of grabbing the intended bag he was going to use, he reached for a handful of his biscuits and shoved it into the woman's mouth. He snickered just because of the face of the Marchioness of Laughleft. He began chuckling at the thought that he, Undertaker, mistook a living human being as dead. Then he started laughing hysterically. Of course, it would be her. Only she could fool anyone in this forsaken city. He wasn't even aware when the noblewoman shoved him aside. He only noticed her once more when she was imitating some comedic over-the-top silent film. He continued to laugh.

This entire scenario seemed nostalgic, one of the good ones too. It wasn't that long ago he remember the marchioness as a child. A simple child, not a cunning, calculative, and boring noble. That simple child was his best entertainment for a long while. That child was quick-witted, manipulative, and impulsive. A child who always had adventures thrown at them like a circus act and somehow ended up victorious, questionable so in some cases.

Then she grew up, but another child just like her came about through tragedy. He found a new source.

He was biding his time waiting for her to die the usual death as she became so similar to the boring nobles around her. He thought she was no longer fun as she holed herself off in some house and barely visited him anymore. He was glad he was wrong. It was not that she grew boring, it was simply she knew how to hide herself and her image from fun. He could tell she was still impulsive from the show she put on before him. Her acting was truly a talent of hers. One that will no doubt get her in trouble.

"Are you done yet?"

Lilith stood before the Undertaker in all her grimy glory. She was no longer choking on dry cookies and her unnecessary animated reaction has passed. The Undertaker seemed to be wheezing out the remainder of his laughter on the filthy ground. She puffed out air and resumed her stroll to the man's shop. It wasn't long when she was greeted properly, this time around, by the man.

"My dear, didn't your guardian ever tell you not to roam the streets at night?"

"I remember you telling me 'All fun things happen when the sun is down'"

"It seemed I still remain right, even to this day." The Undertaker briefly giggled after.

Lilith turned her head away from the laughing the buffoon beside her. Her mouth turned into a frown, so she quickly turned her head to the side and placed the sleeve of her hand to her mouth. The action was fruitless as the Undertaker seemed aware of what she was doing.

"Is Lady Mistress pouting?"

"I am not pouting. I am showing my dismay."

"By pouting."

"No, a pout entails I am familiar with you and I find your antics exasperatedly amusing. Anger is the main motivator of my frown, so if anything, I am scowling."

"… It looks like a pout to me."

"It is not a pout!" Lilith huffed.

The Undertaker chuckled some more. Lilith Laughleft does not pout. A lady of her status does not play cute. She was manipulative, intelligent, a temptress, and when the time calls for it, a seductress. She threw away her childish whims, gave up her impulsive attitude, and dismissed her unmotivated, lazy self. She was Lilith Laughleft, the disgustingly perfect Victorian woman who was envied and wanted by all.

The Undertaker seemed to be muffling chuckles behind his coat. This night better be worth a month of free information or else she was fitting the man for his own personal coffin.

This was certainly a joyous night for the Undertaker as the pair continued to walk side by side under the moonlight; the mist was still palpable in the air giving both a nice veil from anyone to recognize them immediately. He side glanced the woman he accompanied. Her arms were crossed, hands clasped together and in front of her body. Her shoulders were pressed down, posture was straight, and head directly forward. She remained diligent in her façade of a proper Victorian lady. What a truly prideful woman. However, her little act can only do so much in comparison to what her body can scream. From what little skin he could see from her tattered appearance and muddled skin, miniature bumps crawled her skin.

A coat befell the shoulders on the marchioness. Her eyes preened at the individual at her peripherals.

"What foul plan have you concocted in that mind of yours?"

"Lady mistress, what kind of date would this be if a man did not give his coat to a woman in need of it?"

"A man with no standards. Yet, your definition and society's definition seem to come to an impasse."

Undertaker giggled briefly. A completely atrocious sound. They were nearing his shop, just around the corner or two. The stroll was pleasant, with all events considered, but of course, she jinxed herself when she heard a clattering in an alleyway they were passing. Instantly, she tried to hide behind the obviously more powerful being beside her, but he seemed to disappear altogether. She frantically looked around her surrounding area to see no reaper. Damn the supernatural.

She hoped, as a last-ditch effort, to escape before the threat made itself known. She didn't even blink before someone emerged from the shadows. Her attempt to flee was shot down before it could be enacted. A drunken man stumbled out. Tension left her body as she became aware it was no supernatural threat. Anger rapidly replaced the nervous tension when a familiar voice taunted her from behind. She whirled around to face the silver haired man.

"Did the Lady mistress get scared of a drunken man?"

"Where in hell did you disappear to?"

"It wasn't hell I visited. Why, miss me already? I feel touched."

It should be in within her every right that she should kill this man. A suicidal move, but it was justifiable. With all the shit she knew of the man and his completely aggravating personality, she would be doing the world a favor. To the very least, she should slap the man. However, that was not how Lilith Laughleft's character should react. Instead she gave a fed-up sigh intending to move on with her life and head to the shop. That was the plan before a hand stopped her.

Fate hated her. That is the only reason for all the misfortune in her life.

Lilith blinked at the hand on her shoulder. Then looked up at the cursed reaper who taunted her by wriggling the fingers of both his hands in front of her. She turned her head to the side to the drunken man behind her. It was his appendage on her person.

"Hey lady, want to have fun with me too."

His drunken slur was as repulsive as his breath. She tried to calm herself by breathing, but even the morning mist seemed to be tainted by the attendance of this chav. She rolled the one shoulder with the drunken man's hand. Thankfully, it fell off without much resistance. She had no patience for this.

"Don't ignore-"

She barely moved before the man reached for her other shoulder. Instead of resisting, she let the man turn her around to face him. Before he could withdraw his arm, Lilith seized it with her opposite hand and twirled underneath his arm to pin it to his own back. Soon after she stomped the back of the man's knee for him to kneel on the floor. With the newly gained height advantage, Lilith grabbed the man's head and pulled it back, so it could slam onto her own knee she brought up. She let go when the impact of her knee successfully hit the man's head. Now that the man was no longer a threat and she watched him crumbled to the ground.

Fuck all pleasantries with her company, she glared at the reaper with distain. The abomination continued to smile.

"What happened to that gentleman façade." She growled.

"It is still on my deary. I was very much a gentleman as protocol allowed for his slag." All while cackling his response.

Lilith pondered his response while also playing a mental scenario of killing this banshee. In truth to his words, he was correct. As much as it pained to admit it. At the moment she looked as a common whore, with possibly very disturbing kinks. Her hair was disheveled and crusty courtesy of the alleyway, the same blood she smeared upon herself could have looked like ruined makeup given a few shots and horrible vision, and what is clearly a man's coat is draped upon her figure which was supposed to be covering her grotesque outfit can easily be misinterpreted by her donning a different and inappropriate way of dress. To add in her absolute horror in this scenario, based on what the drunken man said, Undertaker was her client of the night and was done playing with her.

She huffed in annoyance before ripping off Undertaker's, admittedly warm, coat and threw it to his head. She turned on her heel and proceeded for the nth time this night to walk to the coffin parlor. She dared not even think she wasn't going to get stopped with her luck. Undertaker, with his coat on his person, pranced beside her all giddy-like as they remained silent for the rest of the trip there. Luckily no more scars happened.

For the sake of her sanity, the Undertaker better have adequate lavatory arrangements.

* * *

It was late night, and Aleistor was nursing a glass of wine. Most of the help had turned in for the night, but there was still a grand amount bustling around doing chores or waiting for himself to shimmy into his nightwear and rest. His eyes scanned at the playbook before him, yet he was not processing any of the words. He was dozing off before a servant of his interrupted his thought, informing him of a person waiting at the back entrance.

Rapidly, Aleistor fixed his appearance and plastered a smile on his face. Finally, he could go to sleep soon. He passed his servant and headed to the back entrance.

 _"Lord Chambers."_

 _Aleistor turned his head from drinking his tea. He looked inquisitive toward the Marchioness._

 _"Yes, Nightingale?"_

 _"If Sir Damien, has so much as a stain on his suit, make sure to dispose of him immediately."_

 _"Not to doubt your reasons, but may I know why?"_

 _She stopped reading the play in her hands,_ _Antony and Cleopatra_ _, and stared directly across the room into his own eyes. She clasped the book closed, gently. She then lifted herself off her seat._

 _"Presentation is everything, if he turns up blemished, he is unwanted. Since he is unwanted, it means he has failed."_

 _She sauntered toward him in a graceful, yet alluring manner. She placed herself closer to him then she had ever attempted before. Her face neared his, he expected her to close the gap between them. While she did, it was not what he expected. Her face past his just slightly as she whispered into his ear._

 _"The last thing I want, is failure."_

 _Chills ran down his spine, but he wasn't sure if it was fear or pleasure. He didn't notice that she immediately got off him and has left him once more like previous times before._

 _She left another note._

 _"Do as you see fit."_

He opened the door.

Lo and behold, he saw Damien. He attained a limp, his clothes were scorched, and his eyes were red obvious he had cried previously.

"Ah, Damien. You look like a wreak. Please do come inside."

"Is the Miss here? I wish to see her."

His smile was plastered on his face, yet his eyes held a certain sadistic glee.

"No, however, she made special arrangements for you."

Aleistor rushed the man inside. He had been running low in supply for his little black hobby.

* * *

A/N: Long time no post! Well while I did continue writing for this story, it is on my phone and not in my computer. So while I probably have the next few chapters on my phone, I'm not posting/ editing/ or uploading much of anything till its on my computer. I do write more during school season, but I probably wont post as much and since I have different parts of the story on different mediums, I basically set up my own jigsaw puzzle piece story.

But yeah, so here is the official first part of the story line. This is from the first episode of the season based on anime. I hope people know this is story is a slow burn. And the uploads may be sporadic, but it will be eventually completed.


	16. Chapter 16: A special gift

"I know when due credit is given."

"And I shall appease to your words Lady Francis."

It was no surprise that Lilith was in the Midford mansion with the other marchioness, but the visits were seldom, so it was also new. Both women continued to size each other up and viciously attack each other in all subjects. This is how their relationship worked. For a while, after the first visit in the Laughleft mansion, Lilith tried her best to be the polite, never wavering, and submissive Victorian woman the entire English society adored. However, even she had a breaking point in which one Francis Midford, seemed to crawl under her skin and burst forth as if some monster was trying to make a human their host. Lilith gave, but the immediate reward of witnessing a baffled ex-phantomhive/current-midford was immensely worth any obstacles heading her way.

From an outsiders' perspective they seemed to get along smashingly. Constantly greeting each other in passing, having impromptu tea sessions when they both had time on their schedules, chatting away in the market like old friends, and having each other over when social season is over. To the two ladies it was more of a game of wits. While, obviously, both players participated willingly and have much fun as it allows, they absolutely want to take the other down, but can't.

Francis Midford and Lilith Laughleft were as opposite in their image as can be. They use their image to pick at each other. Francis Midford was essentially the icon of feminism in Victorian era, not accounting the queen. She was stronger than her husband, she was more capable at times than him too. She could hunt, she could fight, she could protect, cook, train, and learn any subject, even those exclusively to males. She did not have to play the noble game because she was known for her blunt responses and expectations. Francis Midford was the type of person when given a roundabout path that leads to a destination, she'll plow a straight pathway to the same destination.

On the other hand, Lilith Laughleft's image is the opposite of her marchioness counterpart. Lilith was an icon of the expectations of the Victorian era. She was every bit feminine in her features as well as her attitude. She took lessons on dancing, singing, table manners, flirting, and speaking. She expected meals to always be prepared for her, she expected men to protect her, and she expected not to know anything in subjects relating to the male 'world'. She had perfected her responses for the noble game. She mastered the art of talking in a roundabout way to get her desired answer. Lilith route was as curvy as a roller-coaster.

But now, Lilith was fed up with taking the long route with this woman who seem to enjoy just bulldozing her way through life. Strangely enough, Lilith favours her visits with Lady Midford as it reminds her of her own time era where people spoke what they mean. Well, in her own personal group of companions.

"A needle and a thread are the most important tools for a seamstress. But to the common folk it is just another necessity for when clothes become torn or shoes to be mended."

"Your point."

"While males have the titles of tailors, females are seamstresses. As most of the clothing industry is dictated by female tastes and are majorly female employed, the hobby and profession are entirely feminine."

Madame Midford sipped from her drink and seemed to ignore Lilith's implication and seized another crumpet.

"If it were I, men assume it was my job as either a wife or a profession. Nothing out of the ordinary. Any comments Lady Francis?"

"I do it for any reason I wish. I did hear that you've been stretching your body. Though I don't see why you would considering you have no muscles to even support that skeletal body of yours."

"I see."

Conversations like these is the normal. Although only recently had Francis started sewing, she refused to give in to the whims of a reaction to the young girl. They talked about seemingly random, but pleasant topics, when suddenly the door to the room they were chatting in burst forward with a slam. Lady Laughleft did not flinch, but Lady Midford stopped all actions as a reaction. Both Marchioness eyed each other skeptically but did not usually comment on it for the other presence in the room.

"Mother, may I-" a high pitched voice came to an abrupt stop as Lilith continued sipping her tea.

She heard a loud thumping of footsteps arriving to the scene with also an incomplete apology that stopped abruptly as well. Lilith set her cup down and stared at the stern expression of the noblewoman in front of her. Lady Midford sighed before gesturing toward the pair to come forth. Only then did Lilith gazed at the new entrants. Lo and behold stood Elizabeth Midford, the daughter of Francis and Alexis.

Elizabeth's posture was straight, and her hands were clasped in front of her. She had a curious look on her face with her head tilted to the side. Lilith knew that a maid or helper was in the room, but it paled in comparison to the presence of another child noble which this series emphasized on.

"I suppose, this time would be as good as any. Lady Lilith this is my daughter Elizabeth. Elizabeth, this young woman is Marchioness Laughleft."

It had been a few months since that encounter and surprisingly, Elizabeth had been a lovely companion since their introduction. It shouldn't have been a surprise in honesty of Lilith Laughleft, but it seemed the introduction of the child noble had actually improved the relations of the Midfords and Laughlefts. It was Elizabeth's doing that Lady Francis and Lady Lilith talked about purely interesting topics and not one of scathing remarks and subtle insults. The women were now pleasant acquaintances in their relationship. Something that reminded Lilith of her ruined relationship with Madame Red, but that relationship was more one sided; of course, on the favour of the marchioness.

She felt… content? It was strange to consider the Midford family more than a plot point marker in a novel. However, she hadn't quite considered them as something valuable. She was still willing to use them as to further her ambitions and her goal. So they were still disposable in Lilith's eyes, but was willing to give them a glance over to see if she would entertain an idea to make sure they were not worse off when she left.

"Colette, make sure she doesn't run off to 'less than desirable' establishments."

"Yes, my lady."

And that leads her to where she is now. In the middle of a market place shopping with said child noble and the child noble's maid. She had her two servants, Colette and Clyde, accompanying her.

Lilith's head maid followed after the pair as Lilith followed at a more sedate pace. The party of 5 was careening the marketplace for the newest merchandise. Elizabeth was gallivanting around, enamoured by dresses, jewellery, and lovely patterned cloth.

Lilith was trusted by Francis Midford, by their newly developed relationship, to entertain and observe her daughter. Lilith doubts Lady Midford would trust her to care for her daughter or anything beyond this point in their relationship. Lilith and Elizabeth were comfortable with each other since their first meeting. Outside of noble etiquette, the girls learned much from each other: their likes, their dislikes, their ideal futures. In most of Elizabeth's free time, she would seek out the Laughleft marchioness as it was more convenient than travelling 3 times a week to her fiance who lived in the countryside. Lilith didn't mind much. For all the pieces of the plot are now set in place, Lilith now had free time. Of course, there were the reports to the Queen about her mock economy and the trade routes, but she didn't worry much about that.

"Lady Lilith look at these adorable dresses!"

The corners of her lips twitched up for a moment before her serene expression took over once more. Elizabeth ran into a shop while gesturing her to move faster. However, the ruse didn't last long for her eyebrows raised and a smile replaced her normal expression. The dresses that Elizabeth fawned over were the ones she wore to Count of Druitt's party and the impromptu ball Elizabeth bestowed on her fiance's manor.

"Those dresses would look splendid on you."

She expected Elizabeth to jump in joy and buy them immediately, but instead she had a contemplated look on her face.

"What of the white dress? Certainly, it is cute, but it doesn't fit my style and it would be improper for you to wear it?"

Lilith didn't even acknowledge there was a white one. She took her gaze from the small noble to the white dress beside the two plot dresses for Elizabeth. It was white with long sleeves, puffy shoulders, two bows on the bodice with a cross lace corset look. The skirt had ruffles imparting on the middle and across the hem of the dress, twice. It look her a second glace over to realise where she recognise it from.

"How astute of you. The white dress, if any, would be good as a back up dress as it could be worn for daily attire and special occasions."

Naturally the original comment of improper dress Elizabeth commented on earlier would have struck a nerve on Lilith, but since it was from a child, she knew there were no hidden connotations to the words. Truthfully, Lilith favoured Elizabeth. Mostly because, outside of obsessing over the Phantomhive head, she was capable in all arts. She was intelligent, proper, analytical, and truly a child. She took after her mother and hid no facet of herself. She maybe a little love struck, but in due time that will pass.

Elizabeth pondered a bit more, before naturally agreeing with Lilith. The child marchioness ordered her maid to get a worker and pack the dresses on display. On the inside, Lilith was laughing gleefully. If she can't get revenge on a troublesome reaper than at least she can make a small misfortune on another. In fact…

"Elizabeth." She waited until said person faced her.

"The higher one is in nobility, one must be charitable. For example, your family's contribution to education or the Phantomhive's donations to orphanages."

Lilith stopped her mini lecture for the other to process her words. All the while steering both females back out into the market area. She gestured for Clyde to take the Midford maid back to the carriage with the bags, and Colette to stand guard.

"While you have yet to gain a title officially, it is good to practice your kindness in small aspects as much as you can."

"How do you suppose I could?"

"Well my duty to the Queen and my charitable act as a noble goes hand in hand you see. I suppose I am lucky in that regard."

The child noble seemed to wilt slightly. Yet, she still put on airs only a noble can.

"However, when I was younger I simply remembered the names of those who served me and those who helped me."

Lilith reveled in silence as she let Elizabeth to ponder her words. She occasionally guided the child noble in certain directions ever so slightly. The pick pocketers in London seemed to get more bold; or perhaps they are a bit antsy to whomever they serve. She noted that Clyde and the Midford maid have yet to return. She suppose not everyone can meet up to the standards of the Laughleft manor. Would it be considered rude if she gave the Midford family a maid?

Well, no matter. They still were accompanied with one servant. Although she is capable, Colette was dealing with the more obvious ruffians that wished to cross the pair.

"I can show my kindness by showing my gratitude to the servants of the Phantomhive manor!" Elizabeth announced avidly.

Lilith smiled. _Check._

"Phantomhive?" Lilith prompted.

Elizabeth's faced turned red and her stature abashed. "Well…"

Lilith raised her hand as she signalled for silence and gave the blonde a slightly coy smile.

"You are only practising; a little selfishness is fine. However, do keep in mind what only you can contribute to society."

Lilith's eye caught a glimpse of a familiar blue ensemble on display. She scanned the area around them to make sure they were both safe. It was perfect timing as she saw the servant pair come back, hands (temporarily) free of the copious amount of luxuries both women have purchased so far. Lilith visibly marvelled at the shop to stop the blonde in her tracks to see what the marchioness eyed. Instantly, Lilith heard a squeal as Elizabeth ran toward the shop with new vigour. It wasn't long after the Midford maid scurried past Lilith to reach her own noble.

"Mistress." Clyde greeted.

The mistress halted the male servant from going past her. Of course, Clyde wouldn't have done so unless prompted to, but his mistress had a certain flare for theatrics (however minuscule they were).

"Bring the carriage to the end of the market area." She spoke.

He waited to see if there was anything else she desired. After seeing no visible cues, Clyde intended to retrieve the carriage himself. However, he was stopped once again by his mistress.

"Have Colette do this errand. In addition, buy that little box trinket she's been eyeing."

His mistress gestured toward her wallet to which he promptly gave up. While his lady's eyes were down casted, Clyde looked at the other Laughleft servant. Indeed, she kept side glancing a small box from one of the travelling merchants. He quickly memorised the unique engraving of the box and the merchant's attire. Since he was a travelling merchant, he did not own a stall in the market place, but had all his wares on his person. His mistress gave him an adequate amount of pounds, then left to perform his tasks.

Lilith firmly clutched her wallet as she ventured her way back to the Midford child. She rapidly swiped an item off one of the stores shelves in the store as soon as she entered. Lilith enjoyed the little details life has to offer. It was how she stayed sane in her years of relative captivity. She overheard Elizabeth talking.

"Yes, kind sir! I need this outfit in these measurements please. Thank your soul!"

Elizabeth turned to face her, already sensing her presence. The shop owner excused himself to do his job and suddenly jumped in surprise when he heard a shriek behind him. He turned around briefly to see if there was a reason. All he saw was the back of the other noble woman. He shrugged and continued on with his duties.

Just as quickly Lilith swiped the item, Elizabeth snatched it form her awaiting hands and marvelled at its… adorability. Currently clutched in the hands of Elizabeth was a frilly, lovely pink bonnet. Elizabeth's comments range from "It's perfect" or "This would look great with black". Her job was complete here, now to move on.

Lilith strolled toward the cash register where the shop owner was. She saw Clyde enter through the front doors and waved him toward the Midford pair for any additional assistance. She waited patiently for the man to finish his current duties before assisting her. He shuffled between the front and the backroom only divided by a thin curtain. As he rummaged around in the back a body mannequin fell through the curtain. Lilith was surprised. Finally, the shopkeeper greeted her after putting the mannequin back into the room. She greeted the same to him.

"So, what can I do for you miss?"

"Well I couldn't help, but notice that dress that fell through,"

"Ah, that thing? I would've sold that ages ago, for a pretty coin too, but now it's just been collecting dust."

"May I know why?"

"It's incomplete."

Really now? Maybe it was her bias and knowledge of future events she didn't notice it was unfinished. Well the basic silhouette was finished as well as the color scheme, perhaps it was the details of the dress.

"How so?" Lilith asked.

The old man grew sober and he stared at the Noble woman with a jaded look right into her eyes.

"The designer of that dress used to be my late wife. She was talented, all these clothes you see right here in this shop, was all her designs. We couldn't conceive before her passing, but she designed clothes for every customer that walked through those doors. She left a sketchbook in which I was fortunate enough to call up an old friend of mine to make all her designs to come true."

"If that is the case why didn't you tell this friend of yours to finish the dress for you?"

"You see, all the clothes you see here was her design. She sketched every single one of them. Except for that one."

Interesting.

"How come?"

"I don't really know. She came in a rush one day and said she had to make this dress. She told me she met this lovely young girl and wanted to gift this dress to her. She also said she had to finish it before the 2nd month passed."

"She died before the 2nd month I presume. "

"She didn't make it through the first."

The silence seemed to stretch long, but Lilith knew only a couple seconds passed. The Midford pair continue to shop and browse, the noise outside continued. Everything just seemed slower like watching a clock as time continued to pass.

"I apologise. I shouldn't have brought it up. I apologise for asking for a price as well."

"No need be."

"It is sentimental to you. I've been rude."

"It was sentimental for me. Look around deary."

Lilith looked around once more and started to notice that the shop was actually a bit more uniformed then when she entered. It certainly was colourful with all the dress and suit options, but there seemed to also be more everyday attire for the working class, nobles, and even the poor.

"My wife may not be with me now, but her spirit still greets every customer that walks through these doors. She has always been with me."

Lilith smiled. The old man was such an optimistic person. However, she still had a job to do, and this was an indicator for events to come.

"Then is it not rude to ask if I can purchase this dress. I'd like to give it to a friend of mine's niece."

"But it is incomplete?"

"And I'm sure she will enjoy this gift."

"Then please, take it off my hands."

"Thank you." She smiled as warmly as she could to the old man.

She gave the man the money for the special dress along with a few extra pounds. "For his troubles" she'd reply. He thanked her before going back to work. She turned around and was immediately greeted by Elizabeth.

"Did you buy something." She questioned.

"A small present for a friend of mine's niece."

A smile graced the Midford daughter's face. Marchioness Laughleft returned one as well. They chatted idly as they exited the shop and back into the market place. Both current servants has a few handfuls of bags and boxes in their grasps. Unfortunately, only the Midford maid knew this was merely the beginning of another shopping spree. She felt sorry for the old man servant. Hopefully, he doesn't break his back or something.

The sun had set, and the evening was high. Her mistress was taking a stroll in her garden with other servants. She, on the other hand, had decided to retire to her room after her excursion with the marchioness pairs. She took her blonde hair out of the tidy bun on her head and brushed all the kinks and knots it had accumulated over the day. She prepped herself for bed in the servant quarters. Luckily, since she was head maid, she didn't share a room with anybody else. Just as she was about to get into bed, someone knocked on her door.

"Who is it?"

No one replied.

Colette walked to her door and opened it up slowly, when there was no one in sight she opened the door fully. She looked around and saw nothing, until she looked down. There on her door step was a small jewellery box with a musical crank. She picked it up, looked around once more, before bringing it into her room. She sat on the vanity and opened the box. What popped up was a pair of dancers. A man in a black suit and dark hair with a woman with a light flowy dress and light hair. Colette cranked the music box and watched the pair dance to the beat of the music. Only after the song finished did she notice a small piece of paper neatly folded inside the box. She unravelled it and saw word in a messy script.

'Happy birthday.'

She smiled and closed the box while placing the letter back inside.

Colette slept with a smile on her face.

* * *

A/N: Here's an update after who knows how long. Also happy holidays for anyone that celebrates in the winter season. If there is any spelling/grammar mistakes in this chapter, well it is because google chome just auto corrected my words, Or maybe it's because I really have been spelling wrong my entire life and only now do I know 'color' is spelled 'colour'. Eh who knows, anyway thanks for reading/reviewing/ favouring the story. Is this a short chapter, well yes. Again, I write on whatever I have on me. Sometimes it's my phone, its paper and pencil, on a friends tablet, on a napkin, or sometimes (although rarely) it's already on my computer. So trying to update is a bitch because I play my own personal puzzle of which event goes where. I mean I could post whatever I have and disclaim from possibly this chapter onward that the events don't happen sequentially. But I feel like that ruins the whole story telling.

But yes, this is a really slow burn. This story does have some sort of romance tab, but beware I like having romance as a secondary or tertiary theme and it may not be the happy ending, "let's get married", feel good romance. Just a warning.

Update whenever!


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